Private Ryan
by Psychic1515
Summary: Something's gone wrong, Richie knows this because he's seen it. Now, the police, the neighbors, even Duncan and Tessa aren't willing to believe him. So now he must find a way to prove what he's seen, before something happens to him next.
1. Default Chapter

Private Ryan

Author's note: This chapter I would not recommend anyone read while eating, some details can be and are a bit graphic. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

"In 1973, eight people held up in that house because of a bad storm one night. The rain had washed out the road ahead and they had no choice but to stay. They – turned in and – the next day the sheriff had to be called up there because someone saw them go in and it was private property and while the owners were gone, trespassers weren't allowed. So they went up there, and they found that the people had all been killed, dead, right there in the beds. But – they were never able to find out who did it – or how – the doors and windows were all locked...and we're talking about a house that was pretty damn strong –the doors locked liked vaults, before the panes were put in, the windows had bars of steel a jail would be proud of – they never figured out how it had happened, or why – Eight different people who never met before in their lives, all from different locations, different lifestyles, different careers, everything about them was different, all they had in common was that one night – Finally, in 1981 they knocked the damn place down – which is why you now have a 3-story near mansion in that same area that looks like it belongs in the deep south."

"What?" Richie asked, "That's crazy."

"That's bull-shit," Jeremy added.

"It is not," the young woman replied, "hell, my father still has the newspaper articles – they were never able to find out how or why – a house locked up that tight – and someone came in and killed them all off, and vanished without a trace. When they started building that fancy house in place of it, the governor himself said he didn't know why anyone would want another house there – or why anyone would want to live there afterwards – because the next person just might end up dead as well – dying a merciless, bloody death."

All three people sat in silence and glanced at each other, the silence was broken by a sudden screech on the window. The teenagers screamed and jumped when they heard it, then the front door opened, and then in stepped a man and a woman, both looking in their 30s.

"Mister MacLeod, you trying to give us a heart attack or something?" the girl asked.

"No."

"Well it worked," Jeremy said, "I get one more scare like that, all my hair's going to turn white."

"So what have you three been up to all this time?" Duncan asked.

"Nothing, just trying to scare the hell out of each other," the girl replied.

"Yeah, something my sister has plenty of experience in," Jeremy said, "hey Richie, you think you could come back over later? I have a friend showing up tonight and I'd like you to meet him."

"Just so long as I don't have to eat your sister's cooking, I'm allright with that," Richie said.

"Richie," Tessa said.

"Oh, sorry Tess, you guys wanna try Denise's cooking? It ain't that bad, just feels like a rock in your stomach and keeps you up half the night," Richie said.

"Thanks for the invitation but we'll pass," Duncan replied, "anyway, I don't believe that that's what Tessa meant."

"Oh yeah, sorry, I'm still new to this permission thing," the redhead blushed.

"Well Jeremy, we'll see about letting Richie come over tonight – after he picks up his room like he promised he had earlier."

Richie rolled his eyes and turned a brighter shade of pink.

Richie should be thankful Tessa just knows about his room being a mess, Duncan thought, and not the other thing.

"Well, if Richie gets done in the salt mines tonight, just send him back over, we'll keep an eye on him," Denise said.

"And if he misbehaves we'll be sure and hogtie him," Jeremy added.

"Well thank you but I don't think that'll be necessary," Tessa laughed, "but if Richie gets his room finished before midnight, we'll send him back."

"Well we better get going, it'll be getting dark soon," Duncan said.

"Yeah, see ya guys later," Richie added as they headed to the front door.

"Well Richie, your friends seem nice," Tessa said.

As they headed down the sidewalk, Denise ran to the front door and called out from the front porch to Richie, "See you later, frizz head."

"– Yeah," Richie said after a few seconds.

Richie didn't know why Denise had to call him that. He didn't know why she picked on him at all, just because she was older than him, he supposed she saw it as something she was able to do. Denise was 19, she'd attended college at 17 but after 2 years she decided it wasn't for her, so she dropped out and headed back home to take care of her little brother, Jeremy, who was Richie's age. Regardless of his age, she still saw it as her duty to watch after him when their parents were gone, which was most of the time. Richie came over just about every day to see them, aside from Nick and Angie, they knew him just about as well as anyone.

They met when the boys were six, they were living in foster homes just next to each other. The parents seemed nice at first, but after some time it seemed that the kids did whatever it was that the parents didn't want them anymore. Or couldn't control them, or whatever it was. Richie could understand why people got tired of him, but Jeremy and Denise seemed like angels compared to him – okay, so they were angels when people were watching them, but the minute their backs were turned, the kids were just themselves. Finally when the boys were ten, Jeremy and Denise moved away, they'd just caught up again shortly after Richie moved in with Duncan and Tessa. It was the weirdest meeting, Richie was running from Sergeant Powell after he tried to get him to come back to the station for questioning, after he'd lost him a few blocks back, he ran into Jeremy, literally, and they both hit the street. When Jeremy recognized Richie, they got up and hid in an alleyway, once Powell was out of sight (and out of mind), they headed to the antique shop and got acquainted once more.

As it turned out, they hadn't changed too much, they were both just mischievous boys looking for a good time, and Denise was still the same sister she was, protective of her brother one minute, and putting him in a full nelson the next. She often warned Richie if he tried anything smart with her, she'd put him in a headlock. Now Richie knew how Jeremy had come out of foster care alive, he had his older sister looking after him.

So that's what it's like to have older siblings, Richie thought, at least, _real_ siblings. In his time he'd had his share of foster brothers and sisters, some older, some younger, all the same, they never liked him. Of course they would have their way with him when the parents weren't watching, but in all truthfulness, the parents were even worse. Which was why Richie was glad he'd met Duncan and Tessa, at least they cared about him. _Really_ cared about him, not like the foster parents who looked like saints in public, then turned into Joan Crawford and John Gacy Sr. when they were behind closed doors. That's why Richie liked these two who took him in, sure they were strict at times, but they never raised a hand to him.

Richie slipped into the backseat of the T-Bird as Duncan and Tessa got in around front. Richie looked over at the front window to Jeremy's house, he saw the two talking, maybe even arguing about something. At first he wasn't sure what to make of it, but then he saw Denise point up the street, up to the red brick house. The same one she told him about earlier. Richie felt his face go pale as he saw the house. Sure he'd seen it before, but he never really paid much attention to it. Now that he did, he realized how similar it was to the mortuary.

"Richie, are you allright?" Duncan finally asked, "You've certainly been quiet."

"Yeah," Richie forced himself to say, "I just – I'm glad to see those two again, we don't act like it, but we get along great."

"That's what you told people before, right?" Duncan smirked.

"Yeah, everybody saw us as three angels – I feel sorry for the idiots who did, they never had a clue," Richie said.

"Richie," Tessa said, "how come their parents are never home? We've been over there to get you four times this week, and I haven't seen anybody except for the three of you there."

"They're there, just not a lot, they both have jobs that take time to get to and come back –sometimes they have to stay at their work for several days before they come home," Richie said.

"What do they do?" Duncan asked.

"Uh – their mom is a lawyer, and their dad's a therapist, I usually wait till they're gone though, to go over, I don't want him asking me any questions," Richie said.

"Don't they like you?"

"Oh yeah, they know me, I just don't want any 'specialist' asking me how I am," Richie insisted, "that's all."

Richie folded his arms into his chest and let out a mild yawn as he adjusted his position in the backseat.

"Are you allright, petit?" Tessa asked, gazing into the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah, just tired, oh boy," Richie sighed, "I think I'm gonna sleep tonight, like a rock."

"I think you mean like a bump on a log," Tessa said.

"No, trust me, Tess," Duncan smirked, "he means a rock. Nothing will wake him these days. He could sleep through a tornado."

Richie had finished dinner and gotten back to straightening up his room. The main reason he was so anxious to get it done was he didn't want Tessa to find out about his magazines. He picked up two of them and slipped them in the pillowcase on his bed. The sheets had just been done that day so he didn't need to worry about hiding them for another two weeks. He picked up another one and slipped it in amongst several books on the shelf. Then he gathered up the miscellaneous pages from others that had been thrown out, and slipped them in between the pages of his dictionary. The rest of his room had already been taken care of, but if Tessa found out he was a Playboy fan, there would be trouble.

Richie had just finished reorganizing his "unmentionables" and plopped down on his bed when Tessa came in. She looked around the room and briefly gazed at this and that, and walked over to the bed. Richie felt his heart rise in his throat, he hoped Tessa wouldn't insist that the wrinkles in his pillow be smoothed out.

"Well Richie, I must admit, you've done an excellent job on this room," she told him.

It better be an excellent job, Richie thought, I've been working on it for over three hours with a twenty minute break for dinner.

"Are you tired, petit?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

Damn exhausted is what I am, he thought.

"Well," Tessa glanced at the clock, "It's a quarter to seven, considering you've been working in here all day and haven't complained – you can head over to Denise's house if you like."

"Thanks Tess," Richie grinned.

"But you're not going out without your coat, the weatherman is predicting rain for after midnight – if it starts raining while you're down there, you call us when it's time to come home, understand?" she asked.

"Sure," Richie said as he got up from the bed.

Richie opened the door to the closet and dug around for his coat while Tessa made herself comfortable on the bed.

"You know Richie, we just washed these sheets, you should smooth the wrinkles out of them," she said.

Richie felt his heart skip a beat, he turned around and saw Tessa run her hands across the top of the pillow, until every last wrinkle in the pillowcase was gone.

"There, now this room can be lived in," she smiled.

Richie exhaled and turned back around to get his coat out of the closet.

"Well Tess, see you in a few hours," he said as he slipped into it.

"Have a good time and remember," she said.

"Call if there's a problem," they said in unison.

"Right, I don't want to worry about you," Tessa said as she headed over to her bedroom.

"Okay, see you later Tess," Richie said as he hurried down the stairs.

Richie felt his face turn red from the cold air as he made his way down the broken sidewalk leading down to the next street. It was getting dark early nowadays and by this time, the only light was from the streetlights, peoples' homes, and the moon and stars sometimes, depending on the weather. Tonight, the only light Richie had was the streetlights at the corners of every street. Richie didn't use to mind the dark, it helped him come and go as he pleased after pulling a job in someone's home or a jewelry store. Now that he was staying with Mac and Tess, he realized he'd become a bit paranoid in these situations. He'd be walking by himself in near pitch darkness and he'd jump at the slightest noise.

Like clockwork, Richie felt his heart speed up when he heard something from behind. He turned around quickly and saw nothing move. He looked around in the darkness for a few minutes, only to find nothing. Laughing at himself, Richie turned back around and when he took a step forward, he heard something pop. Richie felt an awful pain rush through his left leg and he fell on the pavement, moaning in pain. After struggling to get back on his feet but to no avail, and spending a few minutes groaning and writhing in agony, Richie turned over onto his hands and knees so he'd have a better chance of standing up. He slowly rose off his knees and got on his feet, then he slowly arched his back as he got up, when he felt someone touch his shoulder.

Richie let out a startled shriek as he jumped up and turned around, standing behind him was a middle-aged man with blondish-white hair and large glasses, in a gray and white business suit.

"Pardon me, I saw you from my living room window and thought you might need some help, are you allright?" he asked Richie.

Richie looked at the man for a minute, he didn't know why, but there was something about this man that sent icy chills down Richie's spine.

"Uh – uh – uh yeah, I just – think I pulled something," Richie finally said.

"Well that's terrible, can you walk?" the man asked him.

"Yeah, I can walk," Richie said.

Walk, hell, he thought, after that near heart attack I feel like running as far as I can to get away from that guy.

Richie reached the corner and just down the street from there was Denise's house, he turned his head briefly and saw the man go inside of the red brick house. The same brick house that Denise had told him about.

"What the hell?" Richie asked himself.

Richie ran across the street and headed up to the porch and banged on the door a couple of times.

He heard the knob turn and the door pulled back a crack, and Denise looked out, "you here alone?" she asked.

"Yes," Richie said as he gasped for air.

The door closed and the chain was taken off and Denise opened the door again and let Richie in.

"What happened to you?" she asked as she noticed his heavy breathing, "you just get through with a hooker or something?"

"No," Richie grunted, "I ran all the way here – Denise, do you know there's a guy living in that brick house up the street?"

Denise shut, chained and bolted the door before she turned around and walked with Richie into the living room, "What?"

"On my way over, something in my leg popped and –"

"Where?" Denise asked.

"That's private," he said, "anyway, as I was standing up, this guy came out of nowhere, he's got white hair and he was wearing a gray suit and a vest."

"Drew Mason," Jeremy said.

"What?" Richie asked.

"That's the macadamia nut's name," Denise explained, "Drew Mason, he moved in a couple of years ago – that basket case is into that fancy-ass opera music. He plays it on his piano almost every night. It's like – like – what is it?"

"It's like that music they use in those old silent movies," Jeremy said.

"Thank you," Denise said.

"He'd have to be a basket case to live there, doesn't he know what happened?" Richie asked.

"Of course he does, the whole damn town knows what happened, but he doesn't care. I guess he doesn't get scared easily," Denise said.

"Either that or he's just too stupid to leave," Jeremy said.

"What'd he say to you?" Denise asked Richie.

"Not much really, why?" Richie asked.

"Nothing, he's just a weirdo, and don't you be hanging around him," Denise told him.

"Why?"

"Well, I'm not going to say he's harmless, but we don't know much about him, but there's something about him that we just don't trust," Jeremy said.

"But don't let him make you a paranoid bundle of nerves," Denise said.

"Who me?" Richie nervously laughed, "oh no, of course not, never, no. – So what did you want me to come over for?"

Denise turned to Jeremy and said, "Go get the tape."

"What tape?" Richie asked.

Jeremy went over to the bookcase in the den and took out a videotape in a transparent clamshell, "possibly one of the worst horror movies you'll ever see."

"That's what you said about your home movies, Jeremy," Richie said.

"True, some of those were pretty bad," Denise said as she took the tape from Jeremy, "but this is something far worse. A foreign horror movie "Revenge of the Living Dead Girls"."

"Neat, I get it, something sexy, something scary–" Richie said.

"And something to make you puke," Jeremy added, "come on, let's watch."

They headed into the living room, Jeremy and Richie plopped down on the couch while Denise started it.

"I hope this movie's better than the last one, the last one was pretty bad," Jeremy said.

"Yeah well you have someone bound and gag you and carve their name in your chest and tell me if it was good for you," Denise said.

"Will you two shut up?" Richie asked, "the movie's starting, everyone quiet."

"_In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."_

Denise shut the tape off, "Well Richie, what do you think?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," he weakly replied.

Denise turned on the lights and noticed that Richie had turned pale sometime during the movie, "poor thing," she smirked, "maybe next time we watch a movie, it should be "Don't look in the Basement", or how about "I saw what you did", or maybe "Theatre of blood", how's that strike you?"

Richie groaned as he got up and ran into the kitchen. Denise and Jeremy followed and found him with his head in the sink, throwing up. Denise went over to the sink and turned on the faucet, she washed the regurgitated contents down the drain, and then she dampened a rag and cleaned Richie's lips and his chin, then the inside of his mouth that was still covered with it.

"Oh God," he moaned.

"Easy, easy, slow down your breathing, you're not in an aerobics class," she said, "Jeremy, go get that stuff out of the medicine cabinet."

Jeremy went past the kitchen sink and the two of them and headed into the bathroom. Richie lowered his head in the sink as he expected to be sick again.

"You're allright, Richie," she told him, "just calm down."

Richie weakly shook his head in response and squeezed his eyes shut as he started retching again.

Jeremy came back out of the bathroom with a bottle in his hand, "here you go."

Denise took the bottle, screwed off the lid and brought the bottle to Richie's lips. Richie groaned in protest, but Denise wasn't taking no for an answer, she finally forced the neck of the bottle past his lips and tilted it enough for him to take in a good amount of the contents in the bottle.

"What is that?" Richie asked when she took the bottle away.

"Stomach medicine, it'll work soon," Denise said as she screwed the lid back on.

"I can't go home like this," Richie groaned, "they're gonna think I'm drunk."

"Don't worry Richie, what time do you have to go home?" Jeremy asked.

"Eleven."

"And what time is it now?" Jeremy asked.

"Little after nine," Denise said, "don't worry Richie, the medicine will kick in long before then."

"What do I tell them?"

"Why tell them anything?" Jeremy asked.

"Never mind him," Denise said, "tell them that it was a crappy night, no one liked you, and vice versa, but there was no trouble."

"If it was a crappy night, I think I'd be home long before eleven," Richie said.

"True," Denise said, "we'll just say you fell asleep, come on, let's get you on the couch."

Denise placed Richie's arm around her and helped him into the living room and Jeremy followed close behind.

"You sure your folks won't mind if they come home and find me here?" Richie asked.

"You kidding?" Jeremy asked, "Our folks are out of town on business."

"They'll be gone for about three days," Denise added as she helped Richie down on the couch, "so if your warden's willing, you can come over here anytime you like for the weekend, day or night."

"Try telling him that," Richie said.

"We'll think of something, you just rest until its time to take you home," Denise said.

"What time is he coming home?" Duncan asked.

"We decided on eleven."

"We, that meaning us, right?" Duncan asked.

"Of course."

"Allright."

"What's wrong, Duncan?" Tessa asked.

"I don't know, maybe I've just gotten paranoid, but I have a bad feeling about Richie going down there every day," Duncan replied.

"What could possibly happen?" Tessa asked, "Denise is a level-headed girl, she's looked after Jeremy for all these years, she can look after Richie too."

That may be, Duncan thought, but she can only protect him for so long.

Richie woke up and saw Jeremy and Denise watching him from either end of the couch.

"What time is it?"

"10:55, ready to go home?" Denise asked.

"Sure."

Richie slipped off the couch and was halfway out the door when Denise came out behind him, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," he said.

"Not by yourself you're not, you're coming with me," Denise said.

"What?" Richie asked.

Denise jumped off the front porch and headed to the backyard, Richie followed and saw a red beat-up pickup truck. Denise jumped in the driver's seat and started it, she drove it near the end of the driveway and stepped on the brakes, "jump in" were her only words.

Richie went around the front and got in the passenger side, "Your parents actually left you to drive this thing?"

"We gotta have some way of getting around," she said, "now, there's no seatbelts in here so hold onto the door handle."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Richie asked.

"Believe me, you won't get that door open until we park, besides it's the only way to keep from jumping up and hitting your head on the roof of the truck when we hit a speed bump or a pothole or if the ride's just plain bumpy. Now hold on so we can get out of here," she told him.


	2. Chapter two

Chapter 2

"Well frizz head, here we are," Denise said as she put the truck into park.

Richie fidgeted with the door handle a few times and finally said, "the door won't open."

"I told you," Denise smiled, "hold on, I'll get you out."

Denise got out through the driver's side, went around and opened the door, letting Richie out.

"Thank you," he said.

"You want me to walk you to the front door?" Denise laughed.

"No thanks, I can manage myself," the redhead replied.

"Suit yourself."

Denise got back in the truck, stuck the key in ignition, turned around and left. Richie turned around and headed for the door.

"What's that noise?" Tessa asked.

"What noise?" Duncan asked.

Duncan listened closely and heard the door downstairs close and lock.

"Richie's back," Tessa said.

They stayed in their room and waited as Richie came up the stairs. They both noticed that the boy seemed exhausted.

"Richie, are you allright?" Tessa asked.

"Oh yeah, fine, just fine," he said.

"How was your night?" Duncan asked.

Richie stopped and turned back and headed into their room.

"Oh, there was this guy there and he brought his big brother and– the big brother decided to show everyone some techniques he's learned on the wrestling team. Guess who he used as the opponent?"

"You poor baby," Tessa laughed, "did he hurt you?"

"No, I was numb for a while but – they put me on ice and soon the numbness was replaced by frost nip," Richie explained.

Tessa walked over to Richie and placed her hands on his cheeks, "I don't know what must be colder, the ice they put on you or the cold air, Richie your cheeks are freezing."

"I know, and I didn't even walk back here," he responded.

"What do you mean?" Tessa asked.

"Denise gave me a ride back," Richie said.

"Well," Duncan said, "I think you better get into bed."

Richie turned around and walked out the door saying, "Good idea, goodnight Mac, Tess."

Richie yawned and stretched before he climbed into bed. Ordinarily he just went to sleep in his boxers and a shirt, tonight he didn't feel like freezing his thighs so he went to bed with his jeans on. He'd heard this was uncomfortable, but he'd done it plenty of times before so he knew it wasn't true. Besides, he could really care less about whether it was comfortable or not, he was exhausted.

And still nauseous, too, he thought.

After seeing that movie, Richie figured it'd be a wonder if he could even eat the next day.

Oh well, he figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Richie pulled the covers up to his shoulders and fell asleep. He tossed and turned a few times trying to get comfortable, he grabbed his pillow to flatten it out when he remembered he had his magazines in there.

Man, if Tess ever found these, I'd be a dead man, he thought.

Richie reached into the pillowcase, took out the magazines and slipped them under his mattress.

Out of sight, out of mind, he figured.

Even with that taken care of, Richie still couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep, he rolled around for a while before he finally found the right spot, and he slowly drifted into sleep.

Richie sprung up in bed gasping for air, he found himself surrounded by darkness and it took him a minute to remember where he was.

Thank God, he thought, just a nightmare.

Richie shook his head as he laughed under his breath, now he was getting scared of nightmares.

Of course he remembered just why he was scared in the first place, it had been no regular nightmare. Richie heard something and he looked over at the door. The knob turned and it slowly opened and a large figure walked into the room and over to the bed.

"Hey Mac," he quietly said.

"Richie, are you allright?" Duncan asked.

Richie thought for a minute, had he been talking in his sleep? He couldn't figure what Duncan might've heard.

"Yeah, fine Mac, why?" Richie asked.

"I heard you screaming, are you sure you're allright?" Duncan asked.

"I was screaming?" Richie asked.

"A bit, is something wrong?"

Richie shook his head, "No, nothing's wrong, I'm sorry I got you up for nothing."

Duncan exhaled, "It's allright laddie, I'm just glad you're okay."

Duncan knew Richie wasn't telling him something, he could tell because Richie was shaking. But he was certain whatever it was; he wouldn't be getting it out of Richie, at least not tonight anyway.

Duncan lightly stroked the back of Richie's head and watched him become tense again, but he knew he wasn't going to hear anything more from Richie tonight.

"Well Richie I guess I'll see you in the morning," he said.

Duncan saw Richie was shaking harder and it seemed to hurt him when he breathed.

"Richie."

"Huh?"

"Is something wrong?'

"What?"

"You look like you're in pain, is something wrong?"

"I don't know. I just – I can't stop shaking and my chest hurts."

"Do your ribs hurt too?" Duncan asked.

"What?"

Duncan placed his hand on Richie's rib, he heard Richie hiss through his teeth in pain.

"Richie -I think you're growing."

"Me?"

"Yes you."

"That can't be, I'm almost eighteen, people don't grow at my age," Richie said.

"Sure they do, a lot of teenagers don't even grow until they **are** eighteen," Duncan told him.

"Oh," Richie said, "well that's a relief, I guess."

Richie threw back the covers and swung his feet around and headed to the kitchen. After he got a drink of water, he was about to head back to his room and try to go to sleep. First, he stopped in the living room and picked up the telephone receiver and dialed Denise's number, and waited, anxiously.

"Hello?" a female voice said.

"Denise," Richie gasped.

"Richie?"

"Denise, did you just have a nightmare?" he asked as quickly and as quietly as he could.

"No, I haven't gone to sleep yet – why?"

"No reason."

"Richie – please tell me that the movie didn't scare you that bad that you're having nightmares again," she said.

"No," he answered, "at least I don't think, – it wasn't about the movie but, –forget it, I'm going back to bed."

Richie hung up and headed back to his room. It used to be when they were younger, there was some kind of link or bond between he and Denise. If he had a nightmare she would too, if she was near trouble, he'd find her before anything happened. He guessed it must've worn off after they parted for so long. Richie got back in bed and brought the covers up over his body, but he wasn't sleeping. He wasn't even tired.

What is wrong with me? He thought.

Unfortunately, he didn't have an answer.

Tessa tied her robe shut as she came out of her bedroom and made her way across the hall. Her original intention was to go straight to the kitchen and start on breakfast, but she decided to save Duncan the trouble of waking Richie up so she went in and saw him lying on top of his bed with his face buried in the pillows.

She laughed at how cute Richie seemed in his sleep and she went over to him and shook him gently. He started shaking as his eyes opened automatically and he jumped around on the bed to get up.

"What happened?" he asked, "Oh, it's you, Tess."

"Thanks a lot."

"I'm sorry, I'm just exhausted," he said.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?" Tessa asked him.

"Not really, I woke up at three and couldn't get back to sleep so I did some reading," Richie said.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Mac didn't tell you? He thinks I'm growing."

"What time did you get back to sleep?" Tessa asked.

"I don't know, I guess around 4:30…that's the last time I looked at my watch," Richie said, "sometime after that I went to sleep."

"Well do you feel like getting up already? It's only 7:30."

"Yeah."

Richie swung his feet around to the floor and got up.

"Where are you going?" Tessa asked when she realized he was following her out of his room.

"I'm going to give you a hand with breakfast."

Richie helped Tessa cook breakfast, but when it was time to actually sit down and eat, he was less than willing.

"Come on Richie, sit down and eat, your food's getting cold," Tessa said.

Richie looked at the grits and sausage and scrambled eggs and felt his face change color and turn pale.

"Come on Richie, you helped make this meal, you know what's in it so you don't have to worry about food poisoning," Duncan said.

"Sorry Mac, but I don't really feel like eating," Richie said.

"What?" Duncan sounded half-surprised, "are you okay?"

"I'm just not hungry," Richie weakly replied as he stood beside his chair.

"Well after last night I'd think you'd be hungry enough to eat a horse," Duncan said.

"Mac please, I just don't feel like eating," Richie said as he looked down at the floor.

Duncan had a feeling there was more to it than Richie was saying, but he also knew he wouldn't get anymore out of him unless he wanted to tell them. So Duncan decided to leave it at that.

"Richie," Tessa called, "phone for you!"

Richie went into the living room and took the receiver from Tessa, "Hello."

"Richie, can you come over?" Jeremy asked.

"Not sure, why?"

"No reason."

"I'll see," Richie lowered the receiver and placed his hand over the mouthpiece, "Hey Tess, you guys need me here for anything right now?"

"No, why?"

"Jeremy wants to know if I can come over."

"Are you feeling allright?"

"Yeah."

"If you're sure. –Fine with me, just be back before five," Tessa said, "they're predicting rain for tonight, so it might get dark early."

"Okay," Richie brought the receiver back up and slipped his hand off the mouthpiece, "I'll be there as soon as I can get there."

Richie hung up the phone and slipped on his jacket as Duncan came up.

"Well, where are you going?" he asked.

"Jeremy's," Richie said as he went past Duncan and down the stairs.

"Who said he could go to Jeremy's again?" Duncan asked.

"I did," Tessa said, "you haven't had any deliveries come in today, he's not necessarily needed for anything around here right now. Besides, I don't like Richie staying in the house all day."

"So you're sending him over to their house?" Duncan asked.

"What's wrong with that? They're his friends, and they seem nice to me. Besides, they spent so much time apart, let them catch up."

The door opened a crack and Denise looked at Richie, she closed the door, unbolted it and opened it again for him to enter.

"So what'd you guys call me down here?" Richie asked, "is something wrong?

"Richie Ryan I'm insulted," Denise feigned hurt emotion mixed with anger, "we ask you to come down here so we can give you some good news and you assume something's wrong."

"So there isn't anything wrong?" Richie asked.

"Not right now," Jeremy said.

"When we told you our parents were out of town, it was an understatement, actually they're out of state."

"A therapist and a lawyer go out of town, on business?" Richie asked.

"They had some clients who couldn't exactly make it back here," Jeremy said.

"Anyway, they're both in Oregon, and they had a horrible snowstorm last night, so they probably won't be home for at least a week," Denise explained.

"And you're not worried about them?" Richie asked.

"Richie, they're just over in Oregon, not in the Antarctic," Denise said, "they'll be fine –I'm trying to get it through your head that since they won't be home soon, we can come and go around here as we please."

"Well that's great."

"Sure is, now –when does your warden want you home?" Jeremy asked.

"Before five."

"And what time is it now?" Jeremy asked.

"Quarter to one," Denise glanced at her wristwatch.

"Wonderful."

"So frizz," Denise said, "what were you up to last night after I took you home?"

"A growth spurt, eventually," he answered.

"Oh yeah," Denise smirked, "I thought you looked taller."

"Already?" Richie asked.

"No," Jeremy answered, "she just loves jerking you along."

"Apparently," Richie nervously laughed, "uh, Denise."

"What?"

"Exactly how much do you know about that uh – fruitcake living in that former slaughterhouse?"

"Enough to know to stay away from him, why?" Denise asked, "did you see him again on the way down?"

"No."

"Good."

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust him," Denise answered, "that's why."

"Nobody in their right mind would. That's why nobody ever visits him," Jeremy added.

"That's right," Denise said, "ever since he moved in, the only people who have come to visit him are the deputies, and hookers."

"Come again?" Richie asked.

"A couple of times the sheriff's deputies have been up there to serve him some papers, but for the rest of it, these two dollar hookers can be seen heading in there sometimes. If you wanna stick around for the night, you could get lucky and get in on the peep show."

"Really?" Richie asked with a trace of interest in his voice.

"Yeah, see he's got those tacky blinds that you draw them shut and people can still see in," Denise said, "especially at night when all the lights are on."

Denise pointed to the main window in the other room, Richie went over to the window and looked and could get a good view of one of the rooms on the second floor in Manson's home.

"Well you know," Richie told them, "that could be arranged. I heard Mac say on the phone that he and Tess have to go out of town for a few days – meet up with an antique dealer who's coming into the country."

"And they couldn't just meet right here in Seacouver?" Jeremy asked.

"He's from Germany, has a friend over in Seattle he's visiting, and he found this as an opportune time to talk to Mac about some things, of course he doesn't know I know yet, because I was listening in on the phone call. But he's going to ask me whether I want to go with them or stay with someone here, probably tonight," Richie explained.

"Excellent," Denise said.

Richie continued peering out the window and saw a dog run onto the property.

"Hey Denise, there's a weird dog out here!" he bellowed.

Denise came to the window and looked out, "Oh," she said. She turned and went to the door and whistled, "get over here, mutt!"

Jeremy and Richie followed after her, it was a large, skinny, trimmed black and white shitzu puppy with a Mohawk. The dog went over to Denise, she wrapped an arm under its stomach and picked it up.

"Denise, is that safe?" Richie asked.

"Sure, this dog is harmless, he lives right over on the next block, about three houses up from Mason," Denise replied.

Denise walked over to Richie with the dog in her arms, Richie backed away from it. "Don't worry, Richie, he won't bite, even if he does, he's had his shots, see?" Denise ran her thumb and forefinger across the dog's collar and brought up a red heart-shaped tag. It was the kind dogs got from the vet after they had their rabies shots.

"If you're sure," Richie said.

"I am, he's done this a couple of times before, see," Denise pointed up to the house where the dog lived, "he's out on that tree a lot, they have one leash wrapped around it, and they hook his leash onto that and leave him out. But a couple of nights ago he got loose without even breaking his leash, he took off in the middle of the night and came over here."

"I don't know what he sees over here, but he sure seems to be attracted to it," Jeremy added.

"I'll be back in a minute," Denise said, "I'm gonna take this mutt back before they notice he's gone."

"Come on Richie, let's get back in before we freeze," Jeremy said.

The boys headed back into the house and watched from the window as Denise carried the dog across the street, up to the next block and up the sidewalk, went around the house over to the tree and hooked the leash back onto the ring in the dog's collar. Then she made a beeline through the yard, across the street, took a left and headed back to her house.

"Now that is an usual dog," Richie said when she came through the door.

"It's a shitzu," Denise said.

"Never saw one built like that before," Richie said, "it looks like a horse."

"Well he's also part cat so he might have his reasons for being built odd. He comes over now and then so if he does that during your stay here, you know what to do."

"Well I think I'll call Mac and see if he'll let me stay here while he's gone," Richie said.

Richie went into the dining room, picked up the phone and dialed the store.

"Damn, it's busy," he complained as he hung up, "I'll have to go back and ask him in person. But I'm pretty sure he'll say yes."

"And we'll be waiting for you," Denise said. She turned to Jeremy who was looking back towards the window, "Hey Jeremy, get a bed ready for Richie—Jeremy? Jeremy?"

Denise noticed Jeremy was glancing half at them and towards the window, not moving a muscle, his teeth clenched together.

"What's wrong?" Richie asked.

Jeremy blinked and fully moved his eyes towards them, "Look—over—there—" he grunted through his teeth, gesturing towards the window.

Denise and Richie looked at each other for a second, then went over to the window and looked.

"What is it?" Denise asked.

"I don't see anything," Richie added

"He saw you," Jeremy said.

"What? What're you talking about?" Richie asked.

"Who?" Denise asked.

"Mason," Jeremy replied.

"I think you're getting paranoid," Denise said as she turned away from the window.

"I agree," Richie added.

"He saw you," Jeremy repeated.

"So what? Let him look," Denise said, "if it's cheap thrills that get him going—well they don't get much cheaper than looking at us, now do they?"

"Denise, I think he's got something planned," Jeremy said.

"Something planned, like what?" Richie asked, "A séance? A sacrificial ritual? Perhaps he'll cast a spell to raise the dead?" by now, Richie was laughing.

"Why don't you just go home and get the say-so from your warden?" Jeremy asked, gritting his teeth at Richie.

"I'm on my way, I'll be back soon," Richie said.

"Fine," Denise replied as he headed out.

"Hey Mac I wanted to—" Richie walked into the store and stopped in his tracks when he saw who the current customer was that Mac was helping.

"I'll be with you in a second, Richie," Duncan said, "So Mr. Mason, what do you think?"


	3. Chapter three

Chapter 3

Richie looked on in horror, frozen in his tracks, Drew Mason was in the store, talking to Mac, who didn't see anything wrong with the man.

"I'll need some time to consider it, my wife isn't too thrilled with antique dishes, she complains they're too risky to wash and take up too much room. But I'd love to have a set like these in my possession. Could you hold them for a few days?"

"I'll see what I can do," Duncan said, "but I'll be leaving for Seattle on Tuesday and probably won't be back until Friday."

"Will anyone else be running the store during that time?" Mason asked.

"No."

"Well, if I don't decide before you leave, I'll come back the following weekend once you get back to let you know," he told him.

"Allright, I'll be sure and keep a set ready in case," Duncan said.

"Good day, Mister MacLeod."

"Good day."

Mason walked past Richie, "Excuse me," as he headed out the door.

"Now Richie," Duncan said as he put a set of china plates back in their case, "what is it you wanted?"

"Uh – uh –" Richie squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head briefly as he forced himself to speak. "Mac, did I hear you say you're going to Seattle?"

"That's right, I have to see another dealer about a few things," Duncan answered.

"Couldn't he just come here?" Richie asked.

"No, he's visiting a friend in Seattle. See he's from Germany and he didn't want to go any further than he already has, so I agreed to meet him in Seattle. Tessa's coming with me, what about you?"

"What?" Richie asked.

"Well would you rather come with us, or would you prefer to stay with Jeremy and Denise while we're gone?" Duncan asked.

"Uh – uh I'd rather stay with them while you're gone, it's just for a few days, right?" Richie asked.

"That's right," Duncan agreed.

"Yeah, I'll just stay with them," Richie slowly nodded his head.

"Are you sure it's allright with their parents?" Duncan asked.

"Well they're away for a few days on business, but they said if I wanted to come over, if it was allright with you, then it's allright with them," Richie quickly lied through his teeth.

"Okay," Duncan said, "now what did you want when you came in?"

"Uh –" Richie thought, "never mind."

Richie tried to get himself to talk to Mac about his last customer. "Uh Mac, do you know who was just in here?"

"Yeah, Drew Mason, why?" Duncan asked.

"Do you know him?"

"A bit, I wouldn't say I know him real well –haven't seen him in a while to be honest, he just came in asking if I had any antique dishes. Do you know him?" Duncan asked.

"No," Richie quickly replied.

Duncan turned around as if he was surprised by Richie's fast response.

"Uh- never met him before in my life," Richie quickly added.

"Okay."

"Denise, I don't think it'd be a good idea if I came over tonight," Richie said on the phone later that afternoon.

"Why not?" Denise asked, "did your warden turn you down?"

"No, I didn't ask—he already asked me about Seattle," Richie replied.

"And?"

"I said I'd stay with you."

"Smart boy," Denise grinned.

"Denise, I just don't feel like coming over for the night," Richie said.

"How about just for a movie?" she asked.

"N-No!" Richie stammered, "No more movies! I'm still recovering from the last one."

"Hey Richie, relax, we're not talking French schlock again," Denise said, "how about a nice, relaxing science fiction piece?"

"What? Like Godzilla?"

"No, Mad Max, you remember the movie, don't you?" Denise asked.

"Denise, please, I'm a wreck, I don't feel like going anywhere," Richie said.

"Now what the hell's wrong with you?" Denise asked, "You were fine when you left."

"I'll tell you what, I came in the store and that Mason guy was in here talking to Mac."

"Mason? Drew Mason? What was he doing?" Denise asked.

"Asking about some antique dishes, said Mac would have to hold them because his wife probably wouldn't like it," Richie told her.

"Wife? Mason has no wife, he has hookers and bimbos and everything else that lays on its back and opens its legs," Denise replied.

"I know, in any case I don't think that's why he was here," Richie said.

"Well why else would he be there?" Denise asked.

"I don't know, maybe he knew I live here and was looking for me, maybe he only though I was here and wanted to see if he might be right," Richie said, "I don't know."

"I don't think you should be there, then," Denise told him.

"Denise, please!" Richie begged, "I feel awful!"

"Do you want me to come over?" Denise asked suggestively.

"No! I don't want you to come over, I don't want to watch a movie and I don't feel like leaving this building tonight, all I want to do is go to bed and hope no maniac comes in while I'm sleeping and strangles me, good-night!" Richie slammed down the phone.

Richie groaned in frustration. He hadn't meant to blow Denise off like he had, but he was honest, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to just go to bed. So he headed over to his room, closed the door, pulled off his shoes and socks, brought back the sheets, laid down and brought the sheets back up to his shoulders.

The storm awoke Duncan. When the weatherman predicted bad weather, he wasn't kidding. Every few seconds, lightning would strike, followed up by a near ear-shattering crash of thunder. Duncan slipped out of bed and was halfway across the room when Tessa turned on her side and said, "Where are you going, Duncan?"

Duncan thought about his answer for a minute and said, "Take a guess."

"You're not going to look in on Richie are you?" Tessa asked as she sat up in bed.

"Well it was what I had in mind," he replied.

Tessa let out an exhausted laugh, "I don't believe it, Duncan – you're always telling Richie that he has to start being more responsible, act more like an adult, but the first time he's living with us that we get a thunderstorm, you have to go in there and check on him like he's a baby."

"You've said he's a baby," Duncan said.

"Yes, but I'm not the one going to look in on him," Tessa laughed again.

"Just go back to sleep," Duncan told her, "I'll be back in a minute."

Duncan crept over towards Richie's bedroom and stopped at the door. There was another flash of lightning, and eight seconds before the thunder crashed again. Duncan was sure Richie was allright, probably sleeping like a baby, but still, it wouldn't hurt just to check. Duncan slowly opened the door and peered in, a light from the street shone in through the window, giving him a better look at the figure hovering over the top of the bed. Another flash of lightning lit up the entire room and Duncan saw that Richie was shaking vigorously, and he heard Richie whimpering. If Duncan didn't know any better he'd swear Richie was crying. Duncan made his way over to the bed and laid his hand on Richie's shoulder, "Richie-"

Richie tensed and turned around, gasping for air. Duncan saw the boy's wide eyes full of terror.

"Richie, it's allright, it's just me," Duncan said soothingly, "are you allright?"

Richie drew in a struggled breath, "Yeah, I'm fine, Mac."

Duncan ran his hand up Richie's forehead and smoothed back his hair, then briefly ran it down his cheek, Richie's face was wet, although by tears or sweat, Duncan couldn't determine.

"Richie you feel hot, has the heat been on in this room?" he asked.

"I—couldn't tell, I was asleep until a few minutes ago," Richie said.

"What happened?" Duncan asked.

Richie didn't have that strained voice from sobbing, so Duncan knew he hadn't been crying, but still he wanted to know what was wrong with his young friend.

"I—I don't know," Richie said, "I think it was one of those nightmares that you forget when you wake up."

"Are you sure you're allright?" Duncan asked.

"Y-Yes, I'm fine Mac," Richie assured him, "—Mac."

"Yes, Richie?" Duncan asked.

"Did I wake you again?" Richie asked.

"No, I was—" Duncan was thankful for the darkness, he was sure his face was turning red, "I was checking on you."

"Why?" Richie asked.

"Well—no reason," Duncan lied, "are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Richie responded as he eased back against the sheets.

"Well, try to get back to sleep, although I don't see that to be an easy task for anyone with this storm," Duncan said.

"Goodnight Mac," Richie murmured.

"Goodnight, Richie."

Duncan closed the door on his way out and headed back to his bedroom and slipped into bed right beside Tessa.

"How is he?" Tessa asked.

"A bit shaken up, he wouldn't say why though, but—"

"Is he allright?" Tessa asked.

"Yes, he's fine, I think the storm got him up," Duncan responded.

"Well, if you're sure that's all," Tessa said as she turned over in bed.

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Richie seemed a bit uneasy today after he got back," Tessa said, "he seemed—wired for lack of better words, didn't you notice something was different about him?"

"Honestly, I didn't really notice. When he first came in I was talking to a customer and after he left—I told Richie about Seattle."

"And?"

"He's staying with Jeremy while we're gone," Duncan answered.

Tessa slowly nodded in agreement, "Good, I think it'd be best for him to stay with them anyway. Better for him to be with someone he knows."

"And trusts," Duncan added.

"Was he asleep when you left?" Tessa asked.

"Not quite."

Tessa threw back the sheets and swung her feet around to the floor.

"Tess, what're you doing?" Duncan asked.

"I'm going to see if he's allright now," Tessa said.

"Oh for—Tess!"

"I'll be right back, I just want to check on him," Tessa said as she slipped on her robe.

"Tess—"

"I'll only be a minute."

Tessa slipped out of the bedroom and over to Richie's room, the door was open just a crack, she gently pushed the door open and saw Richie at the foot of the bed with his knees drawn into his chest.

"Are you allright, Richie?" Tessa asked.

"Y-Yes," Richie responded.

Tessa made her way over to the bed to get a better look at Richie, "Are you feeling allright, petit?"

Richie nodded. "Did he send you in here?"

"No," Tessa replied, "Richie, why are you not sleeping again?"

"I just had a weird dream, that's all," Richie told her.

"Richie, you've been acting strange since you got back today," Tessa said, "did something happen?"

"No."

Tessa could see Richie wouldn't cooperate with her, or answer anymore of her questions.

She got up and kissed Richie on the top of his head and said, "Try and get some sleep, petit."

Richie waited until he was sure Tessa had gone back to bed. He pulled up his blind and looked down the street, all the buildings and houses were dark except for one down the street. In Mason's house, there was a light in a room on the third floor.

_Maybe he's a vampire in his off hours_, Richie thought.

Richie lowered his blind when he remembered what Denise said about the company Mason usually had at night.

_Bah_, Richie thought, _here I am getting scared like an idiot over someone who ain't worth the trouble._

Richie went back to his bed and pulled the sheets back up.

_That's all it is_, he thought, _I'm just letting him make me paranoid for no reason._

Just after Richie closed his eyes and turned on his side, he thought of something and his eyes opened wide.

_Or could there be a reason to be worried about this guy? _Richie thought.

"Duncan, have you noticed something different about Richie lately?" Tessa asked.

"Something different?" Duncan repeated, "Like what exactly?"

"Well for one thing, he told me he's gotten ten hours of sleep," Tessa explained.

"Ten hours?" Duncan asked, "Then I can't figure out why he's getting dark rings under his eyes."

"No, not ten hours every night, ten hours for the past week," Tessa explained.

"Oh, well—"

"And you knew about the rings?" Tessa asked.

"Well yes, but—"

"And, he's asked to be excused from every meal for the last four days," Tessa said, "I think we should cancel your meeting with Thom Antoine, or at least take Richie with us."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Duncan told her, "Richie would be uneasy there, he wouldn't know anybody, he wouldn't know where anything was, he's going to find it harder to rest in Seattle than he does now. Besides, I already told him—"

"I know that you told him that he could stay with his friends, but I'm worried about him, Duncan."

"I'm worried about him too, but I honestly think he'd have a better chance of resting if he stayed here with his friends rather than come with us while we stay with people he's not familiar with, and probably wouldn't want to be."

"But Duncan—"

"Tessa, we have to leave tonight, in about an hour I'll go over to Jeremy's and have a talk with them, and see what they suggest," Duncan said, "Who knows? They knew Richie before we did, maybe they can think of something."

"So Richie's having trouble sleeping again, is he?" Denise asked.

"Well it's not only that, he's not eating, he's uneasy, he's always shaking, and I have to leave for Seattle tonight with Tessa, and we're not sure if we should leave him with you," Duncan explained.

"Great Scot, MacLeod," Denise chimed in.

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Désolé," Denise replied, "you really think you'd be helping Richie by dragging him off to another part of the state he's never been to?"

"At least I could keep an eye on him," Duncan said.

"No, you don't want to do that," Denise said in return, "you wouldn't be able to help him, you'd be better off leaving him with us."

"How exactly?"

"Comment explique-t-je?" Denise asked.

"I didn't know you spoke French," Duncan realized.

"Yeah, well I didn't know a man with so much knowledge could be so stupid either," Denise rudely replied, "but moving on—it's difficult to explain—Richie and I share a – a bit of a psychic bond. When one of us is in trouble, the other knows, when one of us has a nightmare, so does the other. That's the way it's been since we met," she explained to the highlander. "I think Richie's problem is that he's been restless at night, he's having extreme trouble sleeping and when he does, his exhausted mind tends to create some unbelievable dreams."

"What are you saying? He's having nightmares because he's tired?" Duncan asked.

"In a word," she answered, "but I believe I can help Richie."

"How?"

"He's a very tense boy, he needs to relax, to become calm, it helps him rest. I know a few ways that might be helpful to him, meditation for example. It works wonders on my father and he deals with insane people all day, this is just a regular teenager," Denise said, "let him stay here, I guarantee by the time you get back he'll be sleeping like a baby."

"He's already doing that," Duncan protested, "waking up at three in the morning and he doesn't go back to sleep."

"Well that's one thing my sister specializes in," Jeremy announced as he entered the den, "using a poor choice of words."

"Mister MacLeod, it's all very simple, you leave Richie with us while you're off on business, and we'll have him sleeping peacefully by the time you're back," Denise told him.

"Denise," Jeremy started.

"Not now, Jeremy," Denise replied.

"Denise—"

"Just a minute, Jeremy, I have to show Mister MacLeod to the door."

Denise undid the bolt and chain on the door and opened it for Duncan to leave.

"Well Denise, I guess Richie will be on his way over this afternoon," Duncan said.

"Wonderful, we'll be expecting him," Denise replied in a sweet tone, "Won't we, Jeremy?"

Jeremy merely nodded, "Denise—"

"Good day Mister MacLeod, good luck in Seattle," Denise called as she closed the door behind Duncan as he left.

"Denise—what was all that about?" Jeremy asked.

"Just some reassuring bullshit to MacLeod. Richie hasn't been sleeping in the last few nights, and I have a damn good idea I know why," Denise answered.

"But why'd you have to tell him that?" Jeremy asked.

"I had to, otherwise he would've taken Richie to Seattle with him," Denise said, "I had to think of something to tell him, verdammt!"

"Richie," Tessa said as she walked into the room, "Are you ready?"

"Almost," Richie replied as he closed his suitcase.

Richie picked up his suitcase from the bed and turned around to leave, Tessa kissed him on the cheek and told him, "be good, petit."

"I will," Richie said, ignoring the slight blush building up in his cheeks.

Richie went out in the hall, headed down the stairs and was ready to leave when he saw something that disturbed him deeply.

"Well Mister MacLeod, I was finally able to talk my wife into okaying the plates."

"Well I'm glad to hear it, Drew," Duncan replied.

Mason took some folded bills out of his pocket and handed them to Duncan, and he took the box the plates had been packed in.

"Good day, Mister MacLeod, I hope you have a good time in Seattle." Mason waved to Duncan briefly before he turned around to leave.

Richie saw something that he didn't believe. It was right there on Mason's left hand. A wedding band.

_Holy shit,_ Richie thought, _Mason **does** have a wife –_

Richie didn't believe it, Mason, that thing that his friends had warned him about, had a wife, among nameless hookers and bimbos. If she knew about the women her husband was seeing—

"That makes three of us," Duncan replied to Mason, "Good day."

The Scot turned around and saw Richie standing in the middle of the store with a weird look in his eyes.

"Richie," Duncan approached the boy, "Are you okay?"

Alas, the boy did not answer Duncan, he just stood there with a blank look in his eyes.

"Richie, are you okay?" Duncan repeated as now he stood directly in front of the boy.

Richie blinked, "I'm sorry Mac, it's—"

"Richie, you're turning pale, is something wrong?" Duncan asked.

Richie's eyes got that blank stare again, he drew in a weak gasp of air and only breathed one word.

"_Mason."_

Richie closed his eyes for a few seconds and opened them again to see Duncan standing in front of him.

"What?" the highlander asked.

"That was Mason, he was here again?" Richie asked.

"Yeah, he decided to get the dishes after all," Duncan answered.

"Oh—shit," Richie quietly replied to himself.

"Richie, what's the matter?" Duncan asked.

"It's Mason, I don't like him, he lives right up the street from Denise and Jeremy, he lives on that property where eight people got murdered. No one in their right mind would even go near there, besides he—"

"Richie, you haven't even met the man, have you?" Duncan asked him.

"No, and I don't plan to either, not in this lifetime, and not in hell," Richie replied.

"Richie, I've known Drew Mason for five years, trust me, there's nothing unusual with him," Duncan said.

"If you've known him for five years, why hasn't he ever been over here?" Richie asked.

"He's a private person, prefers to keep to himself, he doesn't like going out much," Duncan calmly explained.

"What about his wife? Ever see her?" Richie asked.

"No, she doesn't like coming out in the day," Duncan added.

"Why? Is she an albino?" Richie asked.

"Yes."

"Oh," Richie exhaled.

_Well that might explain him having a wife nobody knows about_, Richie thought.

"Richie, do me a favor, go over to Jeremy's house and behave while we're gone," Duncan said firmly, "I don't want to come back and find any messages on my answering machine that starts with "We have your son, Richard Ryan", understand?"

"Yes—sir," Richie sighed.

"Well you don't have to do that," Duncan smirked, "now go on, have a good time, and try to get some rest."

"Okay, later Mac," Richie called as he headed out the door.

Richie beat on the door twice and waited. The door opened a crack and he saw a familiar eye staring out at him. "Did you come alone?" Denise demanded to know.

"Of course, Mac and Tess just took off for Seattle. Listen Denise," Richie said as he set his suitcase lower, "I gotta talk to you about something."

Denise looked at him for a minute, "Just a minute," she told him. She closed the door, unbolted the chain and opened the door. "Get in here," she commanded him.

Richie picked up his suitcase and hurried in. Denise closed the door behind him and locked it again. "Hey Jeremy!" she called, "Richie's here!"

They heard Jeremy bellow a response before he came out into the upper-hall and slid down the banister, and got off on the bottom stair. "Hey Rich, I'm glad you could make it," he said as he put his arms around Richie tightly.

"Has he been drinking?" Richie nervously laughed.

"Uh – he had half a brass monkey just before you arrived," Denise informed him, "so don't get too close, he might get to groping," she chuckled as she turned around, "So frizz head, what's your major malfunction today?"

"Denise," Richie gasped, "I was right on my way out of the store when I saw Mason talking to Mac again. And as he left, I saw something that may surprise you."

"Richie, I've been to hell and back for the last nine years, nothing can surprise me," Denise said, "now tell me what was so damn shocking."

"He has a wife," Richie blurted out.

"Richie—"

"He **has** to have a wife, he was wearing a wedding band, now why else would he wear that if he wasn't married?" Richie asked.

"Look Richie, maybe there was a bad connection when we last talked," Denise exhaled, "Mason has no wife, he doesn't have a wife now, he never has, and I doubt he ever will, because he has an endless stream of streetwalkers prancing over to his house almost every night."

"Well you never know, weirder things have happened," Jeremy said, "besides, it could be his wife is a tramp."

"She'd about have to be to like him," Denise said.

"So now what?" Richie asked.

"Now nothing," Denise said, "you're here for three days, so make the most of it."


	4. Chapter four

Chapter 4

"Allright," Denise started as she threw an extra pillow on the bed, "let's get things straight right now. I don't want to go over this again tonight, got it?" Richie nodded in agreement as he remained seated on the trunk beside the bed. "Good," Denise added, "you'll be staying in this room, Jeremy's room is right across from here, and I'll be downstairs on the couch tonight. And try to stay in your own bed, I don't want to find any unwanted company in the morning."

"What about Mason?" Richie asked.

"Let him find his own bed, he's got three floors in his house, there's got to be at least one somewhere in that place," Denise said in response.

"I mean, what are we going to do about him?" Richie asked.

"Stay away from him for the time being," Denise told him, "That's what we've been doing, isn't that right, Jeremy?"

"Right," Jeremy's voice trailed across the hall.

"I just don't get it," Richie started, "Mac seems to think this guy's allright, he's known him for five years, how long has Mason lived in that house?"

"A couple of years, so if your warden knew him before he moved there, I guess he would think he's fine. No one really knew about him until he moved in, and then he had a label: Insane. What I don't get is why your warden doesn't question anything, like this why this hardly comes out of his house, or why nobody's seen his wife," Jeremy said as he came into the room.

"Mac also said that he hasn't seen the guy in a while, he didn't exactly specify how long," Richie added.

"So it could be that your warden is defending a man he doesn't know," Jeremy said.

"I guess he could," Richie thought.

"Also could be he knows something and is defending him still," Denise added.

"Well – that's possible too," Richie realized.

"And here we are going on like a bunch of paranoid idiots," Denise sighed, "Richie, I don't know who's been screwing around with your mind, but just forget it. Mason is just a weird guy who is best left alone, so just forget it, forget **him.** You came here to get away from your warden and to have a good time—"

"Yeah but Denise—"

"Richie, what I would like to know is why you're letting a man, who you have never officially met and know next to nothing about, become such a disturbance to you," Denise said.

"I don't know, I don't know why I'm letting him do this to me but I am, there is something about him that I don't like and if I could find out what it is—" Richie sighed in frustration, "I don't know, because of him, my life is a wreck; my nerves are shot, I can't think straight, I can't eat, I can't sleep—"

"Yeah," Jeremy said, "your warden told us all about that."

"And if you heard the BS I had to give to him to convince him to still let you come here, you'd know you'd better learn to unwind before Friday," Denise said, "now drop it before I wrap my hands around your neck and turn you blue."

Richie knew well enough by now that it was an empty threat, but still he decided to take her advice. They'd obviously gone through some trouble to guarantee his visit so it was probably the least he could do.

Jeremy looked out the window and through the heavy rain saw the Buick in Mason's driveway, "He's still there, his car's still in the drive."

"No – shit," Denise said, "I told you, he'll be gone soon."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he's got a job teaching now, he has for a couple of months."

"But he never comes back at the same time," Jeremy told her.

"He teaches different classes different days, sometimes he works at night, sometimes he works at night. Sometimes he teaches Algebra, other times the works of Amadeus, sometimes he has to work with slow students, they take up more time than anything," Denise replied, "now shut up, I don't want Richie getting paranoid again."

"Well," Jeremy said as he drew the curtains, "whatever he saw in this guy, it must've been pretty bad."

"Why is that?" Denise asked as she took a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of a drawer in the desk in the living room.

"I woke up today at about one in the morning, and he was out in the hall looking out the window," Jeremy explained to his sister, "he kind of seemed catatonic, he just sat there, watching, I went over to him, I tapped him on the shoulder, I asked him if he was coming back to bed and he didn't do anything. I don't know if he went back to sleep after that," Jeremy said.

"Dammit!" Denise exclaimed as she put away her lighter.

"Burn yourself again, sis?"

"I was hoping that sedative I put in his drink would work," Denise said.

"What'd Richie have to drink last night?" Jeremy asked.

"That Bedtime Bliss tea, it's supposed to help you sleep, make you calm, relax your nerves—"

"I thought that's what heroin was for," Jeremy commented.

"That too, matter of fact—" Denise exhaled a ring of smoke, "I wouldn't be surprised if that's one of the key ingredients. Anyway I figured it'd help if he had an extra sedative to make sure he slept, but apparently it didn't work."

They heard a door open upstairs, followed by the noise of Richie jumping down the stairs and into the hall, and into the den. Denise and Jeremy turned around and saw that he looked a wreck. His eyes were red and half closed, his hair was mussed up and he didn't seem to be quite all there.

"Morning, Richie, sleep well?" Jeremy asked.

Richie grumbled something incoherent, and walked in the room.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Denise asked, guessing what his response would be.

"Screw the tea, it doesn't work," Richie replied.

"Didn't you sleep last night?" Denise asked.

"Oh I got about an hour's worth, at least as far as I can recall," Richie answered, "and you? Did you sleep well?"

"Richie, let me give you some advice if you want to see your next birthday, never ask someone who sleeps on the couch, if they slept well," Denise said.

"Allright, if it bothers you so much, why don't you move back into your room?" Richie asked.

"I can't, someone has to stay down here and keep guard," Denise said, "especially when our parents are out."

"Why can't Jeremy?" Richie asked.

"Have you forgotten already?" Denise asked, "Jeremy can sleep through a tornado. I'm more of a light sleeper."

"Yeah, she got like that after three years of having junkies, pimps, hookers, dealers, and robbers coming in all hours of the night," Jeremy explained.

"So Richie," Denise said, "what've you got planned for today?"

"You kidding, Denise? In this weather the only thing that comes to mind is learning the breaststroke," Richie bitterly replied.

"I was thinking we could go somewhere, like the pool hall."

"I don't play pool."

"How about bowling?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't bowl."

"Then what do you do?" Denise asked.

"Not a lot since I moved in with Mac," Richie realized.

"Keep it up and you'll be exactly like him," Denise said, "come on frizz, there must be something you've got planned."

"Nope."

After a minute of silence, the phone rang, Denise picked it up from the kitchen while the boys listened from the phone in the den. "Hello? –Hey Mister MacLeod, what's going on? –Nothing, we're just getting up and around, and you? –oh yeah, Richie? Slept like a rock, never even turned over—how's your floo—I mean your girlfriend? – So how's Seattle? – We got rain here –Richie? I can't get him right now, he's taking a shower – no, I can't do that either – see our hot water hasn't been in too good a supply, so you have to get a hot shower when you can, by the time he got back the water would be cold – allright, I'll tell him you called, good-bye."

Denise hung up the phone and came back into the den, "See frizz, **that's** how you talk to your warden to keep him from getting his do-well arse back over here."

"Great, but why didn't you just answer the phone from here?" Richie asked.

"Because of a little thing called common knowledge, see," Denise picked up the cellular phone and hung it back up, "anyone with half a brain knows that if you talk on a cell phone, anybody who has a police scanner within the next block can hear your conversation."

"Really?" Richie asked.

"Of course, any simpleton who knows about electronics – not to mention actually owns a police scanner – knows that's how it is," Denise explained.

"Well, we've got Richie's warden off our back for the day, now what?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know but I say while we're thinking of something to do, we all cram into the truck and pick up some things from the market," Denise said, "I have to refill the wine rack anyway."

Denise slammed the door shut on the truck as they scurried into the store to get out of the rain.

"Dammit, it's really coming down out there," Jeremy said.

"No shit," Denise replied, "if this keeps up we'll have to tread water just to get out the door – Jeremy."

"Yeah?"

"Go get a cart," Denise said as she took a grocery list out of her pocket.

Richie looked out the doors and stared the continuing rain, "Man, I've never seen the weather get this bad before."

"I know, if there'd been a sun today, it would've been blood red I'm guessing," Denise said, "come on, frizz, help me pick out a watermelon."

"How do you know which ones are ripe?" Richie asked.

"You don't, you just reach in the box, grab one and hope it's good," Denise explained.

Richie leaned over the large box and picked up a dark green watermelon that was about the shape of a beach ball, "Look any good?"

"Makes no difference to me," Denise said.

Jeremy stopped the cart just as it started into the watermelons, "Jeremy," Denise said, "make yourself useful and go get two bottles of Calvert."

"You got it."

Jeremy took off down the isle where the bottled water and the alcoholic beverages were kept.

"Can you get that stuff?" Richie asked.

"Don't worry about it, frizz, I got it covered," Denise said, "besides, I figure you could use some alcohol, I bet it still helps you sleep, and that's something you could use."

"How about I just take a vicodin?" Richie asked.

"How about a shot of vodka to go with a vicodin?" Denise asked, "that helps anyone sleep, it helps my father."

"What about your mother?" Richie asked.

"Stick her at the foot of the bed with the television and the lights on and her lights are out for the night," she explained, "You know, frizz, I'm glad when your warden comes over our parents aren't home."

"Why's that?" Richie asked.

"Because he'd never let you come over if he saw what we really have to put up with," Denise replied.

"No, Mister MacLeod, he doesn't have a problem with that – okay I'll tell him when he comes in," Denise hung up the phone in the living room where the men were seated.

"Well?"

"The rain in Seattle has really picked up in the last eight hours and they probably won't be able to get back here for another day or two," Denise said.

Denise took the receiver back off the hook and dialed another number and waited a few seconds, "Hello, dad? Yeah, well Richie's going to be spending the night here. – No!" Denise said cynically, "he's not drunk. Mister MacLeod repainted the upstairs of their home and the paint's taking forever to dry, and it makes Richie sick so they asked if he could stay over while they stay in a motel? – They didn't take him with them because he's banned from it – no not for that, - because when he was twelve and he was staying there, a lady accused him of taking her watch. Of course he didn't but even after they acknowledged that, she still accused him of stealing her watch, so they won't let him back in, that's why. Yeah, well probably just for the night, we think so, well the rain's gotten a bit strong up here, so it might not be till tomorrow afternoon when he leaves –yeah, okay, goodbye dad." Denise hung the phone up and said, "Sucker."

"I take it you've gotten good at bullshitting people," Richie thought.

"I'm an expert at bullshitting them, don't kid yourself," Denise said.

"So now what do we do?" Jeremy asked.

"I ordered a couple of pizzas for dinner and I got a movie for afterwards," Denise said as she reached under the couch.

"Great, what is it this time?" Richie dryly asked, "_Carrie_? _Horror Hospital_? Oh wait – don't tell me, _Little Shop of Horrors_."

"No, this isn't some cheap horror movie," Denise said.

"Oh, then what is it?" Richie asked.

Denise pulled up a tape in a transparent clamshell and handed it to Richie, "Simple old _Airplane!_"

"Well in that case, remind me not to order anchovies on my pizza," Richie dryly responded. "Denise."

"Yeah, frizz?"

"Don't you think your parents are going to find out where you keep your movies?" Richie asked.

"Give me a break," Denise replied, "my mother is hardly here long enough to get a shower and a change of clothes, you really think she's going to be noticing them?"

"Rich, if you're going to be hanging around here, then you have **_GOT_** to learn the basics," Jeremy said.

"But we'll get around to that, another time," Denise said, "right now you're here as a guest and you should enjoy your stay."

"And I have been, every last minute of it," Richie said.

"Richie," Jeremy said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember that guy we used to know—Trent Nickelson?"

"Remember? Jeremy, you shitting me? I used to live with that bastard," Richie said.

"Well he's dead now, so it's safe to assume he's getting everything he had coming to him," Denise added.

Richie turned around and looked at Denise, "Dead? When'd he die?"

"A couple of days ago, he had a heart attack, but that wasn't what killed him, no," Denise said, "his ex-wife came to see him and it seemed to be an instant attraction all over again, but then she found out that he was still married to his second wife, finally she realized what he was setting her up for and went to the hospital with a gun in her purse."

"She killed him," Richie assumed.

"No," Denise replied, "he was already dead when she got there, his current wife killed him."

"She shot him?" Richie asked.

"No, she had been poisoning him, putting arsenic in his hospital food. He never complained about being sick so no one noticed, the doctor didn't even notice the white lines in his nails. So—it's anyone's guess as to whether or not it was a painful death for him, but at least no one has to worry about him anymore."

"Yippy, there's a piece of good news," Richie said flatly.

Denise slipped off of the sofa, stood up and said, "I'm going to take a shower, let me know when the pizza comes."

Three and a half hours later the three of them had finished off half of one pizza and two thirds of the other.

"You know, frizz," Denise said as she put the plates in the sink, "we should do this more often."

"Yeah, if only Mac had to go out of town more often," Richie thought.

"Yeah, you know that's not a bad idea, I've been wondering, does your warden know a guy named Connor MacLeod?"

"Co—" Richie thought for a minute, "Connor MacLeod?"

"That's right," Denise said.

"I—I—" Richie wasn't sure how to answer. He at least hoped they were both thinking of a different person, "I'm not sure."

"Well let's see if this refreshes your memory," Denise said, "he's about six feet tall, short blonde hair, always wears a trench coat, from New York."

Bingo, it was obviously the same man. "Yeah, he knows him."

"Well—maybe next time we can arrange it so your warden has to go to New York to visit him," Denise said.

"How do you even know Connor?" Richie asked.

"Well it was a few years ago, he got into a fight with someone and we were there when the fight was over," Jeremy said.

Richie swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, "What kind of fight?"

"Domestic violence really, he needed his jaw put back into place but the other guy needed 200 stitches just in his head," Denise replied.

Richie felt like he was going to have a heart attack, how in hell did Denise and Jeremy find out about Connor MacLeod and not "Russell Nash"? And if they knew about him, did they also know about Immortals?

"So what all do you know about him?" Richie asked.

"Enough to know he's a lot more lively than your warden, he could take lessons from him," Denise said.

"I thought they might be related since they share the same last name," Jeremy said, "is that right, Rich?"

"Uh—wouldn't have a clue," Richie quickly lied.

"Oh well, next time he calls, I'll ask," Denise said.

"You know Richie," Jeremy said, quickly changing the subject, "there's going to be a marathon on tonight of the _National Lampoon_ movies on tonight."

"Sweet, I haven't seen those in so long—"

"Allright you little demons, continue this ruckus upstairs in your own room," Denise said.

"What's your problem?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm exhausted, I've been on my feet for 36 hours and would like to turn in now," Denise said.

"Allright, allright, no need to bite our heads off," Jeremy said, "Come on, Richie."

"Right behind you."

It was going on 2:30 in the morning, everything was still dark. Denise was on the couch sleeping peacefully, laid straight out with one arm raised slightly above her head. The front door slammed and the lights in the dining room came on, and Denise woke to a sudden force shaking her as she heard someone calling her. She woke up and turned on the light beside her and saw Richie staring at her, panty heavily.

"Richie, what's the matter?" Denise asked.

"Denise," Richie gasped, "you gotta get up, quick!"

Denise sat up on the couch and saw that Richie looked like a hysterical wreck. "What's going on, Richie?"

"Denise, it was horrible, he killed her!" Richie screamed.


	5. Chapter five

Denise was awe-struck by what she just heard, for a minute she could've sworn it was just a dream, but the mask of horror that Richie's face had become told her that it was definitely real.

"What? What're you talking about he killed her?" Denise asked as she got up.

"Mason, I—that dog was over here and I took him back to his house, and on the way back, I saw him kill a lady!" Richie exclaimed.

"What! Where?" Denise asked.

"Right in his living room, barely off from the porch," Richie said.

"Did he see you?" Denise asked.

"I don't think so, I—I stayed on the other side of the block where he couldn't see me, then when I came over here I broke the headlight in the street so he wouldn't know I was around," Richie explained.

Denise slipped on her jacket, "Allright Richie, calm down, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

"Well it might be too late now, but allright," Richie said.

Richie headed out into the hall with Denise right behind him as Jeremy came down the stairs, "Denise, what's going on?"

"Either stay here and get ready to shoot or come with us," Denise said.

"What?" Jeremy asked.

"Mason killed someone, Richie saw him," Denise said.

"You're not going over there, are you?" Jeremy asked.

"Don't be dumb, Richie's going to take me exactly where he was so I can figure out what's going on around here," Denise replied.

Richie led Denise off the porch, up the pavement and across to the street, over to the house where the dog lived.

"I came over here with the dog and after his owner took him back in, I started walking down the sidewalk and I looked over there," Richie pointed over to a window in Mason's house, "And I saw him and the lady fighting."

"Any idea over what?" Denise asked.

"No, anyway, she turned around probably to leave and he grabbed her and pulled her back and he slit her throat," Richie said.

"What? With a knife?" Denise asked.

"I'm not sure, it was something small, I didn't really see it, all I saw was him running his hand across and blood pouring out of her neck," Richie explained.

"Shit," Denise said, "you mean his blind was open?"

"No, it was closed, but it's the kind that if you don't shut it tightly enough people can still see in but you can't see out," Richie said.

"So that's in your favor, allright, then how'd you get out of here?" Denise asked.

"I went down this sidewalk when I was sure he wasn't around, then I broke the bulb in that streetlight at the corner, and I ran back over to your house," Riche said.

"Capital idea, let's do it again and get out of here before somebody sees us," Denise said.

Richie and Denise ran through the street and down to Denise's house and ran in the front door and slammed it behind them.

"What happened?" Jeremy asked.

"Nothing, allright Jeremy, get on that phone," Denise said.

"Denise, you can't call the cops!" Richie exclaimed.

"I don't see why the hell not, Richie, there's a dead woman across the street," Denise replied.

Richie grabbed Denise by her jacket and pulled her close, "No Denise, you don't understand! Sergeant Powell works for the police, he hates me! If he hears about this, it'll be my ass in the fire, he'll think I killed her, either that or I'm trying to get Mason into trouble, he'll never believe it! And if he doesn't, no one in the station will! Denise, please!"

"Allright, allright, calm down!" Denise said, "Richie, you didn't think I'd just send for any cop, did you? I have an uncle down there, he'll come."

"I don't know," Richie said.

"Richie a woman has been murdered and you might be next if we don't do something," Denise said.

"But get the cops up here, Mason will find out and then he WILL kill me!" Richie said.

"Not if Uncle David agrees to keep it quiet if he doesn't think the story's strong enough, trust me, you don't have anything to worry about."

"The hell I don't!" Richie said, "I witnessed a murder, and if that guy even remotely saw me he can have me killed because he is my neighbor and he and Mac are on friendly terms. And how am I going to explain to Mac that I saw him mutilate a hooker? I can't—

He's going to—"

Tears were already streaming down Richie's face in despair, Denise grew tired of his babbling and slapped him hard across the cheek. Richie looked down and let out a sob as he brought his hand up to his face, where a handprint was already forming.

"Pull yourself together!" Denise told him.

"Shit Denise, what the hell did you have to do that for?" Jeremy asked, "Richie's a mess, he just saw a hooker croak. You can't expect him to be able to just live with that."

"I don't expect him to live with it, I expect him to pull himself together so we can get to the bottom of this, and nail Mason's ass for this," Denise said as she went over to Jeremy, "Get Uncle David up here, tell him there's been a murder! He'll be here in no time, which may be exactly what we have."

Denise went back over to Richie, who was still crying, only this time not in hysterics. By now there was a bright red handprint on his cheek. "I'm sorry about your face, Richie—old habits for me are too hard to break."

Richie lightly nodded in understanding, "I forgive you."

Denise was worried that she'd "broken" Richie, his voice sounded hoarse, like he'd been crying a lot more than he had. That's the last thing they needed, if his mind completely snapped and he turned into a complete baby. After a minute of silence Richie spoke up again, "Y-your uncle—"

"Don't worry about him, he's got nothing on you, and when he gets here, we're going to explain it to him plain and simple."

"He slit her throat?"

"That's right, officer," Richie quietly replied.

"With what exactly? A knife, a piece of glass—steel claws?"

"Uncle David, this is serious," Jeremy said.

"I know, Jeremy, but we have to find out how exactly he killed her," the officer replied.

"I don't know, it was something small, it had to be—cause I didn't see anything really, I just saw his hand go across her throat and blood just poured out," Richie admitted.

"Did he see you?" the officer asking, no doubt eyeing the bruise on Richie's face.

"I don't know, see his blinds were closed, but not tight enough that someone couldn't see in them," Richie said.

"And—what did the lady look like?"

"Basically like your average two-dollar hooker," Richie said, "she had this flimsy red dress on and she had—about shoulder length black hair."

"Was she tall or short?"

"How tall is Mason?" Richie asked.

"About six feet," Jeremy replied.

"Probably around 5'6," Richie answered.

"Thin?"

"More like emaciated."

"Caucasian?"

"I'm not sure, her skin seemed a bit darker than yours."

"Were you fully alert when you saw this?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeremy asked.

"Not fully—I—I felt half asleep when I was out there, I wasn't really wide awake until I saw him kill her."

Richie thought something was wrong from the way that the officer acted as he wrote down the description.

"What's the problem, Uncle David?" Denise asked.

"It's difficult."

"It's always difficult, otherwise anyone could do this," Denise said.

"Well what I mean is, for one thing the young lady he described sounds like a few women who have been missing for some time now, if it was one of them we could have some additional problems on our hands. Also, in order to go over to Mason's home and investigate—"

"Don't tell me you'll need a search warrant for that, Uncle David, don't say that," Jeremy said.

"It is standard procedure."

"I don't give a damn if it is standard procedure or not, a woman is dead and he's probably still looking for a place to hide the body, or clean up the blood," Denise said, "Uncle David, you've got to do something. Richie's telling the truth."

"I believe he is, but that's not the point," he replied, "even if he is telling the truth, so far all we've got to go on is his story and technically all we have to go on in this case is circumstantial evidence, and a case like that can be thrown right out. In any case he admits that he was half asleep when it happened, so it could very easily get thrown out. This is obviously going to take a lot more than just myself to get this whole thing straightened out."

"We'll go with you, I'll pin the bastard to the wall, and you can read him his rights while Denise and Richie get the body," Jeremy said.

"No Jeremy, I mean back-up, a coroner, official authority—"

"Uncle David, you can't do that, there's an officer down there who hates Richie and would love to see him locked away. If word got out that he was involved in a murder case, he'd jump on the opportunity to have Richie found guilty for it."

"Really? Which officer would this be?"

"Sergeant Powell—"

"Powell? Well that's no surprise, allright, I'll make sure that he's the last to know about this, in the meantime, I strongly advise all of you to stay away from Mason."

"No problem, come this time tomorrow he's probably going to be heading for Mexico," Jeremy said.

"What about Richie? Can his parents be reached?"

"He doesn't have any parents, Uncle David, the people who he is living with are out of town and won't be back for a while," Denise said.

"Well then I suggest that you stay here until they return, I'll send an officer over to keep an eye on everything," David said.

"Here or over there?"

"Over here, if he knows that someone saw him during the murder, he's going to be liable to try and kill them before anything else can happen," David said.

"No, you can't send a cop over, then Mason will know that someone's onto him," Jeremy said.

"Not to worry, I'll send over Bloch."

"Who?"

"Deputy Troy Bloch, he does undercover work, nobody will suspect a thing," David said.

"I don't know about this," Denise said.

"Well I'll admit I don't know him as well as some of the other officers, but right now he's the only one who does undercover who can be reached," David told them, "besides, he's one of the better ones we've got."

"Really?"

"Besides, if what your friend told me is true—"

"It is," Denise flatly said.

"Then I wouldn't recommend you being alone for the time being."

"Well then you better get out of here before somebody sees you," Denise advised him.

"I'll see you out," Jeremy said as he stood up.

David followed Jeremy out and Denise closed the door behind them, "Well frizz, I guess for the time being you can rest easy."

But Denise saw that Richie wasn't seeing things the same way, he was shaking intensely.

"What's wrong?" Denise asked.

"He's not going to catch him," Richie said.

"What're you talking about? If Uncle David says he's going to nail his ass, he's going to nail his ass," Denise replied.

"He won't get him, it's too much of a legal hassle. Don't you get it, Denise? Even if they do get a search warrant he's going to want to know why they're over there. And you know that house is sound proof so they can't say that somebody called in about a domestic violence report, and even if they do go over there, he's going to want to know who called the police in the first place and they're going to tell him that I saw him murder a lady. And he's going to say I was trespassing and try and get me in trouble, and he's still going to kill me," Richie said.

"Wrong, Richie, if all else fails, Uncle David is going to take his .22, go over there, send five bullets into Mason's head and say he killed himself," Denise said, "he believes what you saw, he's just been doing it by the book for too long. It's programmed into his brain."

"Meantime who's this guy coming over to keep an eye on the place? What if he's in cahoots with Mason? We're still up shit creek."

"Wrong again, Richie, we've got six guns in this place, if he makes even one false move, we can have him dead and buried long before anything happens," Denise replied.

Richie shook his head and looked down, Denise saw it looked like Richie was going to cry again.

"Don't you start that crying again, the last thing we need is you flooding the place," Denise said, "Richie, it's going to be allright, if I have to rip off Mason's arm and beat him to death with it, he is not going to hurt you."

"Denise," Richie said while resisting the urge to laugh at her comment, "it's not funny."

"I know it isn't, but right now, anything's better than listening to you crying," Denise said.

Jeremy came in the front door and locked it behind him. "Well, he's gone back down to the station to get Troy, how're things holding up in here?"

"Fine," Richie said.

"Just to make sure nobody tries anything funny, Jeremy, go upstairs and get our guns, if anyone tries anything funny, there's going to be blood all over this side of town."

"Denise—"

"Richie, this is some serious shit going on here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you right about now, if you think we're going to let someone bump you off in the middle of the night, you got another thing coming. Jeremy, move!"

Jeremy ran upstairs, leaving Denise and Richie down in the living room.

"Now what?" Richie asked.

"Now we wait, just to be sure I think you need something to protect yourself with," Denise informed him.

"I have something to protect myself with—you."

"I'm serious Richie," Denise replied.

Denise went into the dining room closet and dug around in it for a while, and she brought out a sawed off pump-action shotgun.

"If you have to, you use it," Denise handed it to him, "I know you know how."

"Is it loaded?" Richie asked.

"Why don't you look down the barrel and find out?" Denise asked.

"That's okay, I'll take your word for it."

"I can't believe how much you've forgotten, Richie Ryan, did you ever know Jeremy or myself when we lived in an area that had a gun that _wasn't_ loaded?" Denise asked.

"No."

"Viola—"

They heard Jeremy jumping down the stairs yelling, "I got the guns, sis!"

"Wonderful, stick one where it's handy and give the other to me," Denise said.

Jeremy slipped one gun down the waistband of his jeans and handed the other to Denise, she did the same and turned to Richie. "Allright frizz, go upstairs and keep quiet, go in the master bedroom and look out from the balcony. You can get a perfect view of Mason's house from there—stay there and don't say anything when the deputy comes, and if you see or hear anything—" Denise handed Richie a second gun, a .38 Super, "fire two shots."

"What? With that deputy here? Denise I think you—"

"Just do it Richie, don't worry about Troy, he tries anything funny and he'll be hobbled, now go! He'll be here any minute."

Richie bit his upper lip and nodded as he put the handgun in his pocket and ran up the stairs.

"That deputy Uncle David's sending up here, I don't like the idea of having him here," Jeremy said in Denise's ear, "Suppose he knows Mason like MacLeod does."

"I don't trust the deputy anymore than I can throw him, I wouldn't have him except Uncle David said he was one of the better undercover dicks for the job and he recommended we don't be alone tonight," Denise said.

"So what do we do now?" Jeremy asked.

"—Wait—"

Fifteen minutes later, a muscle car pulled up by the curb and a man who looked in his early 30s came up to the house and knocked on the door. Denise opened the door a crack with the chain still bolted and said, "What do you want?"

"I—" the man pulled out his badge, "I'm Deputy Bloch—your uncle said you needed someone to stay at the house for a couple of days."

"Just a minute—" Denise closed the door, unbolted it, told Jeremy to get ready incase something happened, and opened the door up again, "Come on in—Dick."

"Uh—Troy."

"What did Uncle David say exactly?" Denise asked.

"Well he said that you've been complaining about some neighbors disturbing the peace, coming around here in the middle of the night, pounding on the door and then running off."

"Smart uncle," Jeremy said to Denise.

"He said to make sure you can get some rest around here, it would help to have an officer here the next time they come—but he mentioned a third person here?"

"Richie's upstairs asleep," Denise said in a polite manner, "the poor dear's just been so upset over this ruckus he's plum worn out. So—Dick—"

"Troy."

"What's your specialty on the police force?" Denise asked as she seated herself at the table in the dining room and began reading through a magazine.

"Well I—mainly bust druggers—you wouldn't believe some of the stuff these kids are on these days—"

"Have you had any experience with crack?"

"Oh yes—"

"And uh—how about marijuana?"

"Yes—it's not so much likely to kill you, but it'll fry your brain—just like cigarettes—"

"And—how about morphine?"

"Not since my college days," Troy laughed nervously, "but seriously—a few times—"

Denise looked up from her magazine momentarily while the officer's back was turned, and she looked down again.

"And—have you ever been in an environment with rubella?" Denise asked.

"Oh—yes—that stuff can make you go completely insane if you do it too much."

"And—alopecia?"

"Yes—you can tell someone's taking it when they get white lines in their nails."

"And how would you recommend restraining someone on uticaria?" Denise asked as she kept her eyes glued to the article on weight loss in women.

"Oh—I recommend keeping a firm hold on them, possibly a brief slap to the face if they're too crazy," he said.

"I see," Denise said.

"Do these hooligans go to the—back door also?" Troy asked.

"Yes they do."

"Where is the back door?"

"Oh it's just past the kitchen and to the left."

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute."

Troy disappeared into the kitchen, Jeremy went over to his sister and said, "Again I say, I don't like that officer, suppose he's with Mason?"

"I know he's not an undercover drug-buster," Denise looked up from the magazine and over to her brother, "Because uticaria is hives, rubella is measles, and alopecia is baldness."

"And knowing all this, you're going to let him stay in this house?" Jeremy asked.

"I will—until we find out what's been done with the real Troy Bloch," Denise said as she stood up.

"Huh?" Jeremy gave his sister a very confused look.

"The badge he showed me belonged to a Troy Bloch allright, meaning he must be somewhere between the station and this block," Denise said.

"What do we do?" Jeremy asked.

"First thing's first, we're going upstairs," Denise said.

Denise waltzed into the hall and approached the stairs with her brother right behind her, "Why?"

"Because we're going to make a phone call," Denise said.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to make a call to New York, and see what our friend, "Mister Nash", thinks about this."


	6. Chapter six

Denise paced back and forth in her parents' bedroom with the phone to her ear, while Richie and Jeremy sat on the bed, waiting—listening.

"I don't see any way out of this," she said, there was a minute of silence, "No I can't—because I don't trust having the two of them here alone with that imposter and I trust them even less to go out and look for the deputy—I don't see any other way—no Connor, listen to me—we can't do that, it's out of the question—first of all, they're not here, they're in Seattle, second if you think I'm calling him and telling him that Richie saw a man who he's known for five years and thinks is just peachy keen, rip open someone's throat, then you—no, no I can't call him back, it was risky enough getting him in the first place—what?—Allright, what is it?— Okay, I'll look into it, okay—what? Hold on," Denise removed the phone from her ear, "Richie, he wants to talk to you."

Richie went over to Denise and took the phone, his hands shaking intensely, "H-Hello?"

"_Richie, are you allright?"_

"Y-Yes—"

"Listen Richie—"

Connor had been shocked when Denise called him and told him about Mason. He didn't know the guy himself, but he could've sworn he'd heard Duncan mention him at least once. Now he was listening to Richie, who sounded like he'd covered his mouth so he wouldn't hear the boy's sniffling.

"Richie, calm down—it's going to be allright—look, I know that Denise isn't going to let anything happen to you—now just calm down, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, put Denise back on—"

Richie handed the phone back to Denise, "Connor—I have to go now——"

Denise hung up the phone and went back over to Richie and placed her hands on his shoulders to hold him still. She looked at him for a minute with what seemed to be an almost "approving" look. She put her hands back at her sides and said to Jeremy, "Keep an eye on Richie, I'm going to make another call."

"No!" Richie screamed, "You can't call the police again, you just can't!"

"Calm down," Denise said, "I'm not calling the police, I'm calling in someone who can actually be of help—"

"What do you mean?" Richie asked.

"Connor gave me the number to a couple of guys right here in Seacouver—they work for sort of a – bodyguard service. I think we could use one of them here and the other can help look for the deputy, and if anyone tries anything funny, we'll know. These guys were trained to be bounty hunters, they know just about every way possible to kill someone, so they'll know exactly what to do with this guy."

"Denise—I can't go out there—"

"Allright, fine, you can stay with one of the hunters."

"Sis, I don't feel like going either," Jeremy said, "this whole thing's got me worried."

"You think I'm enthusiastic about it?" Denise asked, "I'm worried sick about this whole thing, but we gotta do it, otherwise there's no telling what Mason will do next."

Denise picked up the receiver and punched in a few numbers and tapped her fingers as it rang. "Hello? I'd like to speak to 325 and 536 – that's right, Jones and Marrow."

There was a long silence, "What'd they say?" Jeremy asked.

"They haven't gotten them yet," Denise replied.

Richie covered his mouth with his hand so they wouldn't hear him whimpering as he shook. Jeremy noticed however, he slipped one arm around Richie's back and drew him to him, "Take it easy, Rich—just calm down."

Denise lowered the receiver to her chest, "Richie, do you need a sedative?"

Richie didn't say a word and just shook his head.

Denise heard someone in the receiver and brought it back up to her ear, "Hello – am I speaking with Jason Jones or Krug Marrow? – This is Denise Kramar at 5161 East and Lincoln, we've got trouble up here. Well for one thing there's been a murder – yeah- this deputy from the department was supposed to get up here but somewhere between the station and here something must've happened to him because he was replaced with an imposter who's in the house, and we have to go out and find the real deputy before someone else gets killed. –Well where's Jones? When you get him, you get your arses up here, this is an emergency—how long should you be? –Allright, we'll be expecting you."

Denise hung up the phone and turned to the boys, "They'll be here shortly—Jeremy, go downstairs and see what that schmuk's up to."

"I'm on it—"

Jeremy headed out the door and down the stairs quietly before he started bellowing, "HEY DEPUTY BLOCH! I GOT A QUESTION FOR YOU IF YOU DON'T MIND!"

"Now what?" Richie asked Denise.

"Now—we either wait until we hear gunshots or until another car pulls up," Denise said.

"Denise—"

"What?"

"You do believe me, right?"

"Would I be going through all this trouble if I didn't think you were telling the truth?" Denise asked.

"I don't know –"

"Look, I know you well enough to know you are usually a horrible liar – I also happen to know you wouldn't lie to me about a murder, especially when the murderer's Mason."

"How do you know?" Richie asked.

"Why are you questioning it? I believe you, I'm going to help you nail this guy's ass and I don't want to discuss this anymore," Denise said.

Denise went over to the balcony and looked down to see if anything else had happened.

"Denise," Richie said, "You lied to us, you're not scared at all, are you?"

Denise turned back around and said, "No, I've been through far too much to be scared now."

Richie nodded in understanding, he went over to the head of the stairs and listened for Jeremy and/or the unknown, but he couldn't hear either – and his heart skipped a beat.

"Denise, something's wrong, I can't hear either of them," Richie said.

Denise walked over next to Richie and told him, "Stay here—if that guy comes up, you know what to do."

Denise clutched her gun and headed down the stairs, leaving Richie upstairs, and alone. Richie headed back to the master bedroom and over to the balcony and looked around. He saw nothing unusual, but he heard something that surprised him. It was the unmistakable music of a piano, and it came from up the street, at Mason's house.

Oh shit, Richie thought.

Something was wrong, he'd heard Denise say that the house was practically sound-proof, but then again he'd also heard her say that he worked on musical pieces on the piano almost every night—but at the same time, nothing made any sense. Richie just lowered himself onto the floor of the balcony and let his legs dangle between the bars as he waited for the next thing to happen.

Half an hour passed, Richie looked at his watch, going on four in the morning. It would be light soon, and it would just be another day, and everybody would continue with their lives, nobody even suspecting a thing about Drew Mason. Richie was tired, his eyelids felt heavy and as much as his eyes hurt to keep open, they hurt even more when they were closed so he saw he had no choice but to stay awake. Then a frightening thought entered his head, Denise never came back! Neither did Jeremy after he went down to speak to the officer.

Richie straightened himself up on the balcony, gripped the .38 Super Denise had given him and was ready to go down when he saw a white Sedan pull up by the curb. Suddenly, something in him snapped and his mind froze, the only thing that his brain acknowledged, was if Denise and Jeremy were still alive, to get their attention. He held the .38 in the air and fired two shots. He didn't know what else to do, so he stumbled into the bedroom, and waited. Almost instantly, he heard two heavy sets of footsteps rushing up the stairs, at a speed he knew could only belong to his friends. Denise and Jeremy jumped into the room, looking ready to kill.

"What's going on?" Jeremy asked.

"Those killers you hired, I think they're here," Richie groaned as he pointed to the balcony with his gun still in hand.

Denise and Jeremy rushed over to the balcony and looked down, "That's them allright," Denise said, "they look just like Connor described—I'll take care of them, Jeremy, stay here with Richie."

Denise slipped out into the hall and disappeared down the stairs, Richie fell back on the bed and said to Jeremy, "What in the hell were you doing down there?"

"Nothing, we were just talking," Jeremy replied.

"Yeah? How come I didn't hear you?" Richie asked accusingly.

"We were out in the side yard, Richie," Jeremy defended.

"I would've heard you from the balcony," Richie said.

"Were you near the balcony at the time?"

"No—" Richie admitted. "What about Denise? She went down after you, what were you doing for half an hour, while I waited outside on the balcony and watched for something to happen?"

"We had to keep that imposter downstairs busy, make him believe that we really thought he was the deputy. So we've been down there asking him a lot of questions, and bullshitting him the entire time of how great a guy we think he is. He wanted to come up here, but we told him you were sleeping," Jeremy said.

"Oh shit," Richie spat, "Jeremy, what'd he do when I fired that gun?"

"I told him a lot of the punks around here go drag racing at night, and one of them probably had a backfire occur."

"Oh—good."

Richie started laughing nervously, it went from nervousness to hysterics, and pretty soon, he lowered his head on the bed and started moaning. Jeremy crawled on top of him on the bed and lowered his head right beside Richie's. "Hey pal, don't start that again, everything's going to be fine."

Richie sighed and looked over at Jeremy, "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Well sure—hey, you think I'd let someone wring my friend's neck? Hell no, I'm gonna kill them before they do that," Jeremy said.

They heard people coming up the stairs and they started to get up and off of one another, but not quickly enough. Denise stepped into the room with a man at each side. "And this is my brother Jeremy and our friend, Richie—who quite frankly— I'm beginning to become concerned for both of them."

Jeremy rolled off of Richie and got up, laughing nervously. "Sis, this isn't what it looks like."

"I should hope not."

She reached over and turned on the lights, the boys got a better look at the hunters Connor recommended. One stood near 6'8 with short cropped blonde hair, a light tan, large muscles bulging through the sleeves of his green trench coat and a white shirt and blue jeans. The other was roughly around the same height, short butchered red hair, paler skin, smaller but well developed muscles, and he was dressed in a black trench coat, camouflage shirt and blue jeans.

Richie attempted to swallow the lump in his throat as he stood up and walked over to Jeremy.

"So what's the deal?" the guy with the blonde hair asked.

"You're here because we need some help and Mister Nash highly recommended you for your services," Denise explained, "Richie, meet Jason Jones—" The first man with the tan skin and blonde hair stepped forward and extended his hand to Richie, who took it in a quick shake, "And Krug Marrow." The second man did the same and Richie returned the favor to him as well before pulling away and taking a step back.

"Allright boys, the sun's going to be up in a couple of hours and there won't be much that can be done then, so we have to decide now who goes and who stays," Denise said.

"I'm going," Jeremy offered.

"I'm going, too," Jason added.

"Richie – Richie!"

"I'm staying."

"Fine, Jeremy, Jason and I are going to go out and find the deputy, Krug, you stay here with Richie, and keep an eye on that guy downstairs," Denise said.

"You got it, Miss," Krug said in return.

The other three were already out the door and halfway down the stairs when Denise returned and said, "Krug."

"Yes Ma'am?"

"Take care of Richie while we're gone," she advised him, "he hasn't been the same since this happened.

"No problem, Miss."

Denise smiled in approval and disappeared, like that. It was just he and Richie now. Richie realized he never put his gun away so he grabbed it and put it back in his pocket. Krug approached him and Richie didn't know what to do or even say to this man, so he turned away from him.

"Richie—"

Richie didn't answer, he didn't even look at the man, he just wanted to forget this. He wanted to wake up and have this all just be one grotesque, horrifying nightmare. But common sense told him all too well that that was not possible.

"Richie," the man repeated.

Richie didn't care, he could call out his name all night but he wouldn't answer him. He couldn't answer him, he had no idea what to even expect from this man, he'd been trained to kill people, probably anybody for any situation, and what should make him such an exception?

"Richie—"

The man reached out to grab Richie by the shoulder and Richie saw tattooed on the man's wrist **325**, the number Denise had requested when she called. Richie shrugged the man's hand away from him and fell down on the bed again. Krug was standing over him now, Richie was so exhausted by now, he didn't even move when Krug grabbed him by his boot. When Krug saw he wasn't going to move, he let go of his foot and started poking Richie.

"Are you okay, kid?" he asked.

"I'm beat," was Richie's only response.

"Then why don't you go to sleep?" Krug asked.

"After what's happened tonight, I can't go to sleep," Richie responded.

Richie felt the weight on the bed shift as Krug sat down at the end of it. "So you're the star witness to this whole thing, is that it?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Well why don't you tell me what it was you saw so I have a clue as to what's going on around here?" Krug asked.

Richie sighed, "I might as well, I'll probably be dead by tomorrow anyway." Richie sat up on the bed and turned around to face Krug. "At 2:30 I was outside and saw this guy Mason, who lives in that brick house up the street, kill someone."

"Mason? He lives on the property where those people got killed?"

"How do you know about that?" Richie asked.

"Kid, everybody here knows about that," Krug replied, "'never could figure out why anyone would want to live there. So what were you doing outside at 2:30 in the morning?"

"There's this dog who lives on that block up there, and he gets out at night and he came over here so I took him back to his home and on my way back, I saw him cut a lady's throat," Richie continued.

"Was this on the front porch to that place?" Krug asked.

"No, the living room."

"Right—he iced a woman in his living room and let you watch?"

"No, his blinds were closed but—"

"But they're the tacky kind that people can see through even after their closed," Krug added.

"Exactly, so I run by that block, put out the streetlight so he wouldn't see me if he looked out the window—run across the street, back here, and wake everybody in the house up."

"Then what?" Krug asked.

"Well then they called their uncle, who works down at the police station, we told him what happened and he said he'd send a deputy up here to keep an eye on us so nothing would happen."

"But then someone got to him and came here posing as him, and who would suspect someone who's supposed to be an undercover cop, especially when he doesn't even look like one," Krug said.

"Yeah, that's about it," Richie replied.

"So do you live here?" Krug asked.

"No, I'm visiting."

"Have you told your parents what you saw?"

"I don't—have any parents," Richie admitted.

"Oh—" Krug said in return, "you're kind of young to be on your own, aren't you?"

Richie took offence at his remark, "First of all, I'm not on my own, I'm living with these people who run an antique shop."

"So where are they?" Krug asked.

"Out of town, that's why I'm here."

"Oh-how old are you, Richie?"

"About eighteen, why?"

"Because you remind me a lot of myself when I was eighteen," Krug answered.

"Oh."

Richie looked the other way and hoped he wouldn't say anything more.

"Richie—"

"What?" Richie looked back at him.

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't know—I was an orphan, I lived with this lady until I was four, but then—she died. Wasn't too long ago I found out she was just the first of many foster parents, her husband left her but they were still married when she died."

"Were you with her?"

"Yeah, we were—in a store and she said "I feel funny" and she fell down—and—she never—got back up."

"Sorry to hear that—four years old it must've been pretty shocking—"

"I thought she was just playing, and I—didn't find out she wasn't until—they took her away—" Richie realized he was getting emotional and decided to get off the subject, "I guess by now you're tired of hearing about my past."

"Not really, it's good to remember the past, even if it's someone else's. –I don't have any parents either—they were killed when I was twelve. That's when I decided to start killing."

"Did you find out who killed them?" Richie asked.

"Oh yes, it was three years before I found them, the whole time everyone thought **I **killed them, nobody believed me when I told them otherwise—I reckon that's around the same situation you've gotten yourself in, seeing this guy kill a lady."

"Pretty much, that's why we had to have their uncle from the police come up here, I mean if Powell ever heard—forget it."

"So what is it I'm protecting you from, exactly? Mason or this imposter downstairs?" Krug asked.

"Honestly, I think it's from myself," Richie replied.

"Does anyone actually believe what you saw?" Krug asked.

"Denise says she does, Jeremy I guess he does, and their uncle—that could be either way, I'm sure he's gotten a lot of false reports in his day—but nobody else knows."

"Except for Jason and myself."

Richie sighed, "Shit lot of good that does me. This guy could have all of us done away with, as popular as he is with people he probably has every precinct and coroner paid off. They could wipe us out in the blink of an eye, nobody would ever suspect a thing."

Krug got up and headed over to the door, and turned back to Richie, "Hey, you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Richie asked.

"The guy downstairs."

Richie raised his head and listened, "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly, something's wrong," Krug said.

"What?" Richie asked as he got up.

"I don't know, stay here and I'll be right back."

Krug clutched something under his coat and slipped down the stairs. Richie went over to the balcony and looked down, and the muscle car was still outside, so the stranger still had to be in the house, or at least on the property. Or did he? He could've slipped out without anyone knowing. And Richie knew exactly where he could've gone to if he had the opportunity. Richie picked up his gun and decided to check it out for himself.

Krug had searched the entire lower part of the house and come up with nothing. The deputy imposter was nowhere to be found, nor anyone for that matter. Jason was still out with the Kramars looking for the real deputy and they probably wouldn't be back for a while. Then Krug remembered Denise had given him the number to her cell phone when they first came. He took the scrap of paper out of his pocket and took the phone off the hook and was about to dial when he realized something was wrong. There was no dial tone. The phone was dead.

"Shit," Krug said to himself, "This is not going to end well."

Krug backed out into the hall and stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking around to see if anything had changed, when he felt someone bump into him from behind. He turned around, ready to kill when he saw it was the kid he was protecting.

"Shit, Richie, what are you doing?" Krug asked.

"I thought I'd come down and see what happened, what's going on?" Richie asked.

Krug knew by Richie's tone that he was just as freaked out by their run-in, if not more, than he was.

"Nothing, nobody's here, that's the problem," Krug told him.

Richie started breathing heavily; Krug thought he was going to start hyperventilating in just about a minute. "Oh man, Krug, this is serious, what if he went out after them? What if he killed them?"

Krug grabbed Richie by his shirt and shook him, "Now listen to me kid! You've just got to pull yourself together—before morning this town could have a hell of a carnage on their hands. The police can't get involved in this, that guy is still running around loose, the phone wires have been cut and we can't get help!"

"Where's that policeman?" Richie asked.

"I don't know – something must've happened to him, he must've slipped out when no one was paying attention," Krug said.

"Yeah, and if he did, I know exactly where he is," Richie said.

"Mason's house?"

"Where else would he go?"

"Allright, that does it, come on," Krug headed to the front door.

"Where're we going?" Richie asked.

"We're going to find my partner and find out just what the fuck is going on around here," Krug said.


	7. Chapter seven

Richie scurried out the front door with Krug right behind him as he locked the door with a spare key he'd gotten from Denise earlier.

"Get in the car, Rich."

"Where do we look for them?"

"I'm not sure right off hand, how far away is the station from here?"

"Uh—about six blocks from here I guess, why?" Richie asked.

"Because that's where we're going to look first, come on."

Richie slipped into the passenger side of the Sedan and Krug slipped in the driver's side, stuck the key in the ignition, turned around in the street and stormed down the road.

"So where do we go to first?" Richie asked, "the police station?"

"Around there, we don't want to run into the officers but we have **got** to find out what's going on, like why everybody's missing, or why the phone wires have been cut at the house—I don't know what's going on but I know it's not going to get any better anytime soon."

"You really think there's going to be another murder?" Richie asked.

"I can smell it," Krug said, "there's blood in the air."

"What?"

"It's an expression."

Krug stomped on the brake and stopped the car right outside of an alleyway.

"You stick around long enough, you'll see—you begin to recognize the signs, more people are going to die before this is over. Matter of fact – after tonight I'd say the coroner's going to have his hands full."

"So now what?" Richie asked.

"You still have your gun, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't know how many bullets are left in it."

"Hand it over then."

Richie wasn't sure about that but he knew they couldn't waste time arguing. He jerked the gun out of his pocket and handed it to Krug.

"Seven shots left," he said after checking, he handed it back to Richie, "Allright, this is where we start looking, I'll take one side of this part of town, you take the other, and don't get trigger-happy."

"R-right."

Richie and Krug stepped out of the car and went separate ways; Krug disappeared down the alley, and Richie went the other way, slipping between several buildings that had either been closed for the night or condemned. The only lights keeping him out of complete darkness came from the dim streetlights. They were real dim, streetlights were usually bright white with purple rings around them, but these were low in yellow. Come a few days they'd probably be burnt out completely. Richie tried not to think about being stuck in the dark in this part of town with who-knew-what lurking around in the dark. He was covering a lot of ground, but getting nowhere fast. There wasn't a single person out as far as the eye could see. He was clearly in this, alone.

Richie looked at his watch, it was going on five in the morning, pretty soon the sun would be coming up. He went back the way he came and found the Sedan in the exact same place where Krug had left it, but now he realized there was another problem. Krug was still out there someone looking for them. Richie looked down the narrow alleyway and didn't see anyone, but it was the only place he knew to look right now. So Richie carefully made his way through the alley, listening closely after every step he took. He saw someone go by at the end of the alley and immediately thought it might be Krug. So he quickened his steps down the alley, just as he reached the end he saw no one, but then felt someone grab him and jerk him aside.

Richie screamed as the person grabbed him, he turned around and saw it was only Krug.

"You scared the hell out of me, man!" Richie said.

"I've had plenty of practice," was his only response.

"Did you find anything?" Richie asked as he felt his heartbeat return to normal.

"Nothing, what about you?" Krug asked.

"Same, and it's going to be daybreak soon, so now what?" Richie asked.

"Now we go back to the house, maybe they went back while we've been out here on this wild goose chase," Krug said.

"I sure hope you're right, Krug," Richie said in return.

"That makes two of us, kid."

They tore through the alley, back to Krug's car, got in and took off back for the house.

Richie looked back as they got out of the car, "It's starting to get light out, I don't like this."

"Don't get so excited, the sun won't be all that bright for another two or three hours," Krug said.

"Wonderful, we won't have to worry about finding the body, it's going to be eighty-five degrees today, we can smell it out," Richie sighed dryly.

Krug got about three feet from the porch when he noticed something, and he froze. "Oh shit," were his only words.

"What is it?" Richie asked.

Richie went over to Krug and saw what was so surprising. When they left, Krug had locked the door on his way out, the door had been forced open now with a broken lock and damaged wood in the doorway.

"Looks like we've had company," Richie said.

"Yeah, but who?"

They went in, expecting someone to jump out and clunk them over the head with something, but nothing happened. They went from one room to the next to make sure they didn't have any unwanted company. Richie felt along the wall for the light switch and when he found it, he realized they seemed to be in more trouble than could be imagined.

"Dammit, now the power's out," Richie grunted, "Hey Krug!"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"My guess is the kitchen, what's going on?" Krug asked.

"We got a problem."

"I know, get over here so I know I'm talking to you."

Richie felt his way along the room until he reached the doorway to what he was certain was the kitchen. He felt someone grab him by his wrists and pull him in.

"Hey!"

"Relax, It's just me," Krug replied, "listen, I don't know who came here, but I think it's rather obvious they weren't any of our friends."

"So then where are they? Where could they be?" Richie asked, his heart pounding in his chest now.

"I only know a few places where they might be, and I'd only suggest them as a last resort," Krug said.

Krug parked the car in front of the police station and said, "If they're not here, then there's only two other places I know to look, that's the cemetery and the morgue."

"Oh God, I hope they're here," Richie said.

"Well come on, let's find out."

They headed in the front doors to the station and were relieved to hear people arguing at high decibels, they found Denise and Jeremy and Jason surrounded by several police officers, all of them trying to talk over everyone else.

"Enough!" Denise bellowed, silencing the other bickerers, "I am **sick and tired** of you harassing us. We came here because this is an emergency. A deputy may be dead, there is a man posing as him on the loose, the phone wires have been cut at my house and the power has been put out, furthermore while we were gone, someone broke into the house and ransacked the place. On top of that we have two friends out there who may already be dead!"

A female officer tried reasoning with her, "Miss, I'm sorry but unless you can give us the information we need, there is nothing we can—"

"Go blow a porcupine, lady!" she said.

"Denise!" Richie called.

The three turned around and were relieved to see the two of them alive and well.

"Richie!" Denise called, "get your arse over here, I want to make sure you're allright."

"You too, Krug," Jason added.

Richie rushed over to Denise, who put her arms around him and quickly ran them up and down his back before she drew away from him and slapped him across the face.

"Where in the hell were you?" she asked, "We went back to the house, someone had broken in, the power was cut off, and you weren't there."

"Hey, you think that's bad, while we were there, that imposter sneaked out and cut the phone wires," Richie said in return.

"What?" Jeremy asked, "How did he get out without anyone hearing him?"

"We don't know," Krug said.

"Well where did you go?" Jason asked Krug.

"To look for you, where were you?" Krug asked.

"Well we looked all over this part of town to find the deputy and came up with nothing," Jeremy said, "So we came down here to speak to Uncle David in person, only he's not here either. We have no idea where anybody is, everybody is disappearing."

"No shit, what do you think we thought you were doing? Playing hide and seek with us?" Krug asked.

They heard a door close and someone enter the room. "Okay ladies, what's this about a murder—oh—Richie Ryan—this should be interesting."

Everyone turned around and saw Sergeant Powell standing in front of them.

"Oh—shit," Richie said under his breath.

"Powell?" Denise asked.

"Yep."

"I see."

Denise took a step forward to speak with Powell, but Jeremy stopped her.

"Wait sis, let me," he said.

Jeremy stepped over to Powell and said, "So you're Sergeant Powell, the infamous pain in the ass in this precinct, is that right?"

"And who might you be?" Powell asked.

"Who, me? Well that would depend who you're asking. Some people refer to me as their worst nightmare, others know me as the end of their time, but most people just address me as "Doctor Death". Would you like to guess why?" Jeremy asked.

"What is it that you want, exactly?" Powell asked.

"Want? Well—I would "want" to be able to do unto you as I have done—many of my victims from the past. Nothing could bring me more pleasure, except on the count of my harpoon gun was confiscated last year due to the unfortunate incident in New Orleans during the Mardi Gras. In my defense it was pitch dark and I was unaware of this leather-clad dominatrix craze among many tourists.

"However that is irrelevant right now. So to save your time, and your kneecaps, I'll cut to the chase. This isn't a matter of "want"; it is a matter of "need". I need to find a member of this station, David Kramar; he'll know who I am. Now, you do this for me, and I'll forget about that nasty little incident over at 108th Street. You hear me, Powell? I want you to find David Kramar, and if you so much as utter one syllable of this to the FBI so help me I'll see to it that you wake up next to last year's Kentucky Derby champion."

Powell took a step back, looked over at Richie and said, "Is he with you?"

"Yes," Jason answered.

"Allright—"

Powell turned around and went into the next room.

"How did you do that?" Richie asked.

"Do what?" Jeremy asked.

"I say anything to Powell, he nails my ass, you talk to him, and he's scared of you," Richie said.

"Oh that—it's a gift," Jeremy replied.

"Great, now we can get out of here, and find out what the hell's going on," Denise said.

"Denise, do you have any idea what time it is?" Richie asked.

"I did until I got here, someone took it from me and I haven't seen it since," she said in return.

"It's almost six in the morning," Krug said, "unless you know exactly **_where_** that body is, we're not going to get anywhere now."

"Oh great, fine finish to the end of a perfect fucking night," Denise said as they left the station, "first—my old friend watches some hooker get offed, then something happens to the guy who's supposed to keep an eye on the place. Then we go out to find the real guy, finding nothing, something happens to the imposter, the electricity and the phone wires at the house get cut off, while we're all out, someone breaks in and ransacks the place, and now—something has happened to our uncle and the only way we're going to be able to find that body now, is when—"

By that time they'd gotten to their automobiles, Jason and Krug at their Sedan, Richie, Jeremy and Denise at the pickup.

"When what?" Jeremy asked.

Denise said nothing and instead remained frozen with an odd look on her face. She blinked and said, "Never mind, let's just get home first, and see if we can put the house back together."

Jeremy and Richie slipped in the passenger side, Denise went over to the Sedan and stuck her head in through the passenger's window. "Hey, can you guys follow us back to the house before you head back to work?"

"Can do, Miss," Krug said, "and will do."

Denise went back over to the truck, jerked the door open and slipped in, "How are you boys doing?"

"As well as can be expected, how about you Rich?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh sure, best night of my life," Richie said dryly, "so Jeremy."

"Yeah, Rich?"

"What was that you were talking to Sergeant Powell about on 108th Street?"

"Oh that—you know Richie, I'm surprised folks don't avoid this guy like the plague. Everywhere he goes, trouble follows. See they got a domestic violence report, there was this guy, about our age, high on speed, and he was totally out of it, had no idea who he was talking to, no idea what he was doing, the police get there, they try to "restrain" him, beating him upside the head in the process.

"He died later that day, and the obituary says it was from an overdose, but what people don't know that the coroner does was that he didn't die from the drugs, he died from internal bleeding in the head, caused by the attack. Of course they found out some people know what really happened but aren't willing to talk about it."

"So why should he be scared of you? He could have you blown away if you threatened to go public with it," Richie said.

"Who's talking about going public? You know how many assassination attempts there are when you're speaking publicly? Only a few members of the police force know about that, but the Captain doesn't, and if the Captain were to find out—"

"Then Powell would be ruined and likely to be killed by a relative of the guy they iced."

"Exactly, he'd be wearing cement shoes before he could even come near me."

"Allright you two, shut up," Denise said, "First thing's first, we get back to the house and see exactly how much damage has been done."

"I don't think it could be too much," Richie said, "when we went back there, nothing seemed to be out of place."

"Well when you're stuck in the dark, it's pretty hard to determine what you're just running into, and what's been tossed aside."

"I can't imagine who could've done this," Jeremy said, "I mean who would've wanted to break in here and tear the joint up?"

"Someone who's trying to scare us, like cutting the phone wires and killing the electricity," Denise replied.

Richie looked at the remains of what used to be the dining room table, the legs had been cut off, the leafs were tossed all around the house, in fact one of them had gone through a window. Denise and Jeremy were in the living room putting the couch back into place, it had been knocked over and the back had been hacked open. Krug and Jason had insisted on staying to help get the place back in as good a condition as possible. Krug was stacking together the leafs from the table, and Jason was disposing of the thousands of shards of broken glass that used to be the window in the back door.

"I could've sworn this house wasn't in this big a wreck when we got here," Krug said.

"Maybe whoever did it came back for an encore while you were at the station," Denise suggested.

"Right about now, anything's possible," Jason said.

"Holy shit."

"What is it, sis?" Jeremy asked.

"Krug, when you and Richie got back here, was that muscle car outside?"

"I don't know—I don't think so but we weren't really concerned about it," he said, "why?"

"Because, it was already there when he disappeared, if it was gone when you got back it means he made another move while you were gone," Denise said.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Jason asked.

"I don't know, he could be hiding out somewhere, or he could've called in someone to come here and –oh shit."

"What is it?" Richie asked.

"While we were gone, whoever broke in could've stolen the guns we kept upstairs," Denise realized.

"Not to worry, I'll go and check," Jeremy said, "and see just how much damage they did up there, you wanna come, Rich?"

"No thanks."

"Well Jason, what's the verdict on the table?" Denise asked.

"It's long gone, I think I know a good place where you could put it though."

"What's that?"

"A funeral pyre."

"Denise," Richie said, "this house is a wreck, how are you going to explain this to your parents when they get back?"

"They're not getting back for two weeks, Richie, that'll be plenty of time to get everything repaired and replaced."

"What about Mac? He's supposed to be home any day now and he is going to come down here to get me. What then?" Richie asked.

"Why couldn't you just meet him back where he lives?" Jason asked.

"Because I don't know **when** he's supposed to be back into town—"

"And after last night I don't trust him being anywhere by himself," Denise added, "and we have got to stay here and keep an eye on Mason."

Jeremy came back down the stairs and ran up to Denise. "You're not going to believe this, they trash the downstairs, but they don't even touch the upstairs."

"Great, then there's only half as much work for us to do," Denise said.

"And thank God for that," Richie said, "I shudder to think how long it would take us to repair both floors."

"What time is it now?" Denise asked.

"Six-thirty," Jeremy replied.

"Allright," Denise said, "Jeremy, go into the den and watch Mason's house, the minute he's gone, let me know."

"Why?" Jeremy asked.

"Just do it!"

"Allright."

Jeremy turned and went back into the hall and over to the den.

"Richie, I got a feeling if you and I keep at this, we could have the worst taken care of within—three or four hours."

"What about the windows?" Richie asked.

"I'll call the glass company and have them replace them," Denise said.

"The phone's dead," Richie reminded her.

"Not mine," Denise pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

"In any case, you'll have to wait at least a couple of hours before you can get anyone," Richie added.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, so in the meantime let's get everything we can back in its place, and shuck out everything that's been smashed to smithereens."

"Well I guess until we can get the electricity back on and the phone working and the windows replaced, this is the best we can do," Denise said after two hours.

"Good," Richie said, "I'm exhausted."

"Allright you two," Denise said to Jason and Krug, "follow me and I'll get out the payment for your services."

They followed her into the hall and she stopped at a door on the left that was locked.

"I'm surprised whoever tore up the house didn't break the door down and get in here," she said as she fished through her pocket for a key.

She took a key ring out of her pocket, there were about fifteen keys, but none seemed to be to the door, so she took off one of the skeleton keys and opened the door. It seemed to be an office of some sort; the walls were crowded with bookshelves and filing cabinets, and degrees and diplomas, there were three large desks covered with folders and papers and audiotapes and ink cartridges. There was a computer against one wall, and beside it was a small table with another telephone on it. Over by the four windows was a large counter that was covered with large aloe plants and ferns and mums, over at the end of the counter was a police scanner.

"Who comes in here?" Jason asked as he gazed around.

"Seldom anyone," Denise said, "my folks use it for work when they're actually home, so it doesn't see much use."

Denise went around to one desk and pulled out a hidden drawer on the back of it, she took out a metal box and removed a stack of bills from inside of it. She sorted through them, removed eight one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Krug.

"Here's the money for your service," Denise thumbed through the bills again and took out five more, "and here's a tip for everything else."

"Thanks but that's not really necessary," Jason said.

"Well it's one more thing off my chest and one less thing that I can lose," Denise said.

"Well—I don't know what to say exactly—thanks for an interesting night," Jason said.

"If you need us, you know where to find us," Krug added.

"I'll do that."

Krug and Jason headed out of the office and out the front door, got in their car and left. Denise went back to the living room where Richie was.

"Well, I'm going to call the glass company and see how long it'll take for them to get here, then I'm going to call the phone company and—"

Jeremy sprinted into the room screaming, "Denise! Denise! Whoa—Denise!"

"What is it?" she asked.

"Mason **_just_** left, Denise!"

"Great."

"What's going on?" Richie asked.

"We're going to find the body, that's what's going on," Denise said.

"What!"

"We are going to go over there, search the house from top to bottom, find the lady, and have a little surprise waiting for Mason when he gets home," Denise said.

"Great, so now we're breaking and entering over there, knowing that he could catch and report us?" Richie asked.

Denise scoffed, "Boy Richie, you sure have softened up since you moved in with that warden of yours. We're not going to break and enter over there and we're not going to get caught."

"How?" Richie asked.

Denise took the key ring out of her pocket, "It's not breaking and entering if the door's not locked."

Richie laughed nervously and sat down as he started moaning. "I feel awful. Denise, I don't think I can do this. For that matter, I don't think **we** can do this."

"Oh malarkey, if we don't we'll all find ourselves in the graveyard," Denise said, "Richie, we don't have a choice in this."

They were at the back door to Mason's house where no one would see them. Denise stuck the key in the hole and turned it and they heard the bolt move.

"I can't believe this," Richie said.

"And I can't believe you've turned into such a pacifist," Denise replied as she pulled a cloth out of her jacket.

Denise pulled the key out, put her hand over the cloth, put the cloth on the doorknob and turned. The door swung open and they stepped into a small room right outside the kitchen.

"You sure he's going to be gone long enough for us to find this hooker?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes, Jeremy, now come on," Denise opened the kitchen door and they stepped in.

"Allright, first thing's first, first we check the living room," Denise said.

"What for? Jeremy asked.

"To see if there's still any blood on the floor. He is a musician and an artist, but I doubt he's a very good housekeeper."

They followed her as they passed from the kitchen into the dining room, and over to the living room. Much to their surprise, the floor was absolutely spotless.

"Apparently he's a better maid than I thought," Denise said.

"When do you think he took care of that?" Richie asked.

"Probably shortly after he killed her."

"So now the main thing we have to figure out is—where's the body," Richie said.

"Exactly, now this is a huge place, so there's plenty of places where he could've put her," Denise added.

"So where do we start?" Jeremy asked.

Denise thought for a minute, "I'll look down in the basement, you two look upstairs, that way if, and that's a big IF, he does come back early, he won't catch you so easily."

"Got it," Jeremy said.

"Denise, are you sure about this? What if he comes back and catches you?" Richie asked.

"Richie relax, I've been doing this a lot longer than you have, if he catches me I'll just blow his head off, now go on, we've gotta find the corpse before he gets back," Denise explained.


	8. Chapter eight

"I feel awful, Jeremy."

"Yeah, I know you do, Rich, so do I, but we gotta find this dame so we can prove you're not losing your marbles," Jeremy said in return.

"_Do _you think I'm crazy, Jeremy?"

"Sure, why not?" Jeremy asked, "We're all crazy, I'm crazy, my sister's crazy, everyone in the whole damn town's crazy. **They'd especially** have to be crazy to think this Mason chap is an okay guy. Rich, in life you come to find that everybody who has half a right mind is crazy, even that warden Mac' duff of yours is crazy. Only he don't know it yet."

The boys went up the stairwell watching their every step, every time they heard a car go by in the street, their hearts missed a beat, expecting it to be Mason's truck. But after the third car passed by, they figured they were safe for the time being. They got into the upper-hallway for the second floor and realized there were more rooms to this mausoleum than they had figured.

"Where do we look first?" Richie asked.

"I'll look through the rooms on the left, you take the right," Jeremy said.

"What if she's upstairs?" Richie asked.

"Allright, you look down here, I'll look up there and see if she's there, maybe she's even kicking."

"Jeremy, this is no time for your jokes," Richie said.

"Who's joking? I've seen people get their throats cut and they survived."

"Yes, but not as long as she's been in this house, especially without any medical help."

"Well you never know," Jeremy replied, "some people have been known to survive some pretty weird things for unusual amounts of time."

"Whatever, let's just see if we can find her," Richie said.

Jeremy went around the hall to the next set of stairs that led up to the third floor, he looked up and bellowed, "HELLO UP THERE! – ARE YOU THERE?"

Richie jumped and turned back around to look at him, "Jeremy!"

Jeremy listened and heard no response, "I guess the next floor can wait."

Denise had every light on in the basement she found, she wanted to make sure that there was no mistaking it if she found the corpse. The basement consisted of three rooms, the first one had a refrigerator and a freezer and a washer and dryer, the second room was a couple of steps down and had a work bench and toolboxes and buckets of plaster, the third room had the furnace and the water heater and a couch, and a cabinet built into the wall. Denise was puzzled, usually a house like this had a small basement in the back, and a crawl space under the porch out front. This was no small basement, this was a perfect place to store the body. She went over to the cabinet and slowly opened the door, there wasn't anything inside. That was a relief to her, but it wasn't going to help Richie if they couldn't find the body.

Next she went back into the second room, underneath the work benches were cupboards, she opened the doors one by one in hopes of finding something. But that turned out to be useless too. So she went back into the first room and first opened the dryer and the washer, she found a lot of ugly clothes that were filled with soap and static electricity, but no body. Then she got an idea, the freezer! It would be a perfect place to store the body until he got rid of it, the body would stay "fresh" and the odor of death would never be noticed in the house. It had a padlock on it, but it didn't stop her, she took out a pick and removed the lock.

She drew in a long breath before opening the freezer, but it was full of frozen meat wrapped in white paper with pink printing on it, so you'd know what was what: **arm roast, Italian sausage, rump roast, bacon, etc.** Denise was about to close the freezer and go on, but she reconsidered their options and pulled out a large piece wrapped up labeled **rump roast**. She pulled back the wrapping and saw it was just dark brown meat covered in ice. Denise dropped the meat back in the freezer and shut it, but the top wouldn't stay down, it came back up a few inches. Denise pushed it down again and it came back up. Finally she'd had enough and slammed the lock back on and went back up the stairs.

Richie and Jeremy had gone through seven of the rooms looking in every closet, in every trunk, under every bed, and in the bathrooms they looked in the bathtubs and the cupboards under the sinks and still found nothing.

"Man, we're getting nowhere fast with this," Richie said.

"I'm starting to think maybe I did it, at least I'd know where I put her," Jeremy said.

"How many rooms have we looked in so far?" Richie asked.

"Seven."

"And there's fifteen rooms on this floor, so—"

"Unless you count the two bathrooms too, so that makes nine."

"Meaning we have six more rooms to check," Richie said.

"Man, I wish this guy lived in a smaller house, it'd be easier to find this stiff," Jeremy told him, "tell me something, Rich, what was this lady dressed in?"

"What!"

"I mean, if we find her clothes in a closet or something, then we'll know he's done something with her body," Jeremy said.

"Oh—a flimsy red dress with matching shoes, and this set of dark fishnet stockings."

"Sheesh, that's the most eccentric two dollar hooker I ever heard of," Jeremy said.

"I know," Richie said.

Jeremy went over to another room, opened the door and turned on the light, "Bedroom," he stated, he walked over to the bed and looked under it, "Nothing under the bed," he went over to the door and looked behind it, "nothing behind the door," he went over to the closet, "and nothing in the closet."

"What about the bathroom?" Richie asked.

"What?"

Richie entered the room and pointed to a door on the other side of the room, "That door leads to a bathroom, is there anything in it?"

Denise was now searching through the first floor and getting nowhere fast. She searched the downstairs bathroom, the kitchen, the den, the study, the library, the dining room, all the closets in between and now the living room. She had no luck in finding the body but she did see something that interested her. At the edge of the coffee table was a small metal comb; it probably wouldn't have been so interesting to her, except the second half of the teeth had been sharpened.

"Bah," she said, "probably has dandruff and uses this to—"

Denise stuck the comb in her pocket and decided to worry about that later, she went over to the side window and saw the pickup coming into the drive.

"Oh shit," she said. She took off and ran for the hallway, "RICHIE! JEREMY"

Richie had just grabbed the doorknob to the bathroom door when they heard her calling. They ran out of the room and into the hall at the stairs.

"What's going on?" Jeremy asked.

"Mason's back!"

"What?" the boys exclaimed in unison.

"It's time we got the hell out of here," Denise said.

"Yeah, but how?" Richie asked, "by the time we get down there it'll be too late!"

"The windows!" Jeremy said, "The windows, Richie, it's our only chance."

"What?"

"Just do it Richie! We can't kill him, not now anyway, just do it! I'll be waiting for you," Denise said.

Denise took off and ran for the back door and was out on the back porch just as she heard the front door open. Her heart was in her throat, not for her narrow escape, but because he wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be back until the afternoon, and furthermore, her friends were still in the house.

Jeremy opened the window in a bedroom and looked down, it was a good twenty-some foot jump, but they would survive it. He had one foot out the window and looked back at Richie, "Let's go, Rich."

But Richie stood behind him paralyzed, "Jeremy, I can't."

"Yes you can, look, under this window is a ledge outside, you lower yourself onto the ledge, it'll reduce your fall by about seven feet, and you can survive a fall little over ten feet high. Look Rich, we don't have a choice, it's either we take our chances with Mother Nature, or with Mason, which do you want?"

Richie was about to answer when he heard someone at the foot of the stairs, working their way up. Jeremy slipped out the window and dropped to the ground with no problems, but he couldn't call up for Richie or Mason might hear them. Richie slipped outside, grabbed a-hold of the ledge beneath him and looked down. He closed his eyes and let go, he thought the ground would be rock hard and he'd die, but he landed on his feet, which quickly got sore ankles. Jeremy grabbed him by the hand and they took off running around the side of the house to find Denise.

"Where do you think she is?" Richie asked.

"Maybe she went back to the house," Jeremy replied.

"Wrong."

Denise stepped out from behind the porch and around the side of the house.

"Now what?" Jeremy asked.

"What do you mean now what? We run like hell, that's now what."

They ran down the back road behind the house, back down the street leading to their block and through the back door of Denise's house.

"That was some scary shit," Jeremy said.

"Richie, are you okay?" Denise asked.

"My nerves are shot, and I think I'm having a heart attack, but yeah, I'm fine," Richie said.

"Did you find anything?" Jeremy asked.

"Nothing, how about you?" Denise asked.

"No, but we only covered half of the second floor," Richie said in between gasps for air, "Denise, I thought you said he'd be gone until this afternoon."

"He was supposed to be, why the hell did he come back?" Denise asked.

"Maybe he's just put the body on ice and is just now trying to get rid of it," Jeremy thought.

"Denise," Richie said, "I don't know what we're going to do, if he gets rid of that body then I don't know what the hell we're going to do next."

"For now," Denise said as she grabbed Richie by the shoulders, "We're just going to lay low and see what happens. If he goes out of the house again, we're going to follow him. Jeremy, get on the damn phone and see if the precinct's found Uncle David yet."

"I'm on it."

Denise turned around to face Richie again and saw he was crying.

"Richie, what's wrong?"

"He could've gotten me, Denise."

"But he didn't."

"But he could've—"

Denise took Richie in her arms and stroked the back of his head, "But he didn't, and as long as I am alive, Richie Ryan, he is never going to."

"But what if he kills you?" Richie asked over his sobbing.

"He's not going to kill me, if anything he's going to wish **_I_** killed **_him_**."

"You don't know that, he already killed one person."

"Who only knew how to make easy money to survive, I on the other hand know how to survive by myself, and if I have to, I'll kill him myself."

Richie didn't say anything else, he just kept crying and buried his face in her shoulder.

"Please don't cry, Rich—I—come on."

Denise took Richie by the hand and took him into the living room.

"What?" Richie asked in a low voice.

"You have been running yourself ragged all night, you're exhausted, even I can see that," Denise helped Richie lower himself onto the couch and lay down, "so just relax and try to get some sleep."

"But—"

"Don't worry, nothing is going to happen to you, Richie."

Denise picked up a sheet from the end of the couch and covered Richie with it. Jeremy came back in the room saying, "Hey sis, I just got off the phone with the—is Richie okay?"

"He'll be fine, he just needs to sleep," Denise said as she got up, "now what was it?"

"Oh, I got off the phone with the police and they say that they **did** find Uncle David."

"Good."

"In Union Gap."

"WHAT?" Denise exploded, "What in the hell is Uncle David doing there!"

"That's the part they haven't found out yet," Jeremy replied, "all they know is he's on his way back right now, and he'll be here within the hour with any luck."

"Wonderful," Denise said, "Jeremy, go keep an eye on Mason, make sure he doesn't leave the house without us knowing."

Jeremy left the room and headed back to the den, Denise turned back around and saw Richie was already asleep. She saw this as her opportunity, she sneaked out of the room and went to make a phone call.

"Your nephew?"

"_That's right."_

"Impossible, Mac' du—I mean MacLeod isn't his father, he's hardly a legal guardian."

"_Well if you want to get literal then you could have a point, but—"_

"Never mind, what I want to know is how in the hell you can just stand by in New York knowing that he's at risk of getting killed."

"_Who's standing by? I'm currently suspended at 37,000 feet off the ground."_

"What?"

"_I'm due in Seacouver by five."_

"You're coming here?"

"_You think I'd just stand by and let him die?"_

"Well what did you think I was talking about?"

"_Never mind—how is Richie?"_

"Currently indisposed."

"_Is he allright?"_

"I would hope so, he didn't take too far a fall, but—"

"_A fall?"_

"Yeah. We went over to Mason's house while he was gone to find the body. They were on the second floor when he came back, so they had to jump from a window, and we ran back over here."

"How is he?" 

"Well he was a hysterical mess when we got back here, right now he's out cold."

"_Good."_

"MacLeod's due back here any day, so this should really be a surprise to him when he comes back and finds out about Mason."

"He's still alive?" 

"Yeah, we couldn't risk killing him when we got out of there, but it might be an option next time. Don't you agree?"

"Denise I'm going to be honest with you, I love Richie like he were my own, and Duncan and I share a brotherly bond that goes beyond words. So I know how Duncan feels about Richie as his 'son'. Duncan may think Mason is allright now, but when he finds out what he's put the lad through, he's going to be just as anxious as you to kill him."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well lately I've been getting the impression from Richie that this 'Duncan is a man very set in his ways, and unless he sees something with his own two eyes, he won't believe it."

"So he's gotten even more stubborn than my last visit, eh? Well when I see him I'll just have to have another one of our conversations with him."

"Oh you can't come up here, Connor," Denise said, "the joint looks weird enough as is, with extra company—"

"No that won't be necessary, I'm going to stay at a hotel while I'm there."

"Can Richie stay with you?"

"What?"

"Look Connor, I'm not getting cold feet, I just don't like the idea of Richie staying somewhere during this, where he could get hurt."

"Well you don't want him with me, I have enemies all over the globe."

"I know, but you're his uncle."

"Yes but you've been his friends since before either Duncan or myself came to know him."

"Exactly, which is why I know what's better for him than Duncan thinks. Before they left he didn't think Richie should even be here, he wanted to take him with them."

"Why?"

"Because he wasn't getting any sleep, but then again who could with that psycho living nearby?"

Denise held the receiver to her ear and walked over to the living room and saw Richie writhing on the couch.

"Connor, I have to go, I think I have to wake Richie up."

Denise hung up the phone and dashed back into the living room and pinned Richie on the couch to stop his thrashing about. Richie opened his eyes and let out a shriek even though it was just Denise.

"Richie, what's wrong?"

"I don't know—I think it was—"

"Just a nightmare?" Denise added.

"Yeah."

"Forget it Richie, this wasn't any regular nightmare, what was it?" Denise asked.

Denise backed up to Richie's feet so he could sit up, "I remember seeing Mason and—he was—he came up to me, and he was holding in his hand—"

"What?" Denise asked.

Richie didn't say anything for a minute, Denise recognized a paralyzing look of fear and pain in his eyes right before he answered, "He was holding Mac's head!"

Denise's eyes went wide when she heard it. Richie almost fell to pieces, he lowered his head and cried. For a minute, Denise did nothing, she just watched him, the last words he said echoing in her ears. Mason was sick no doubt, cutting a woman's throat, but removing Duncan MacLeod's head? Denise placed Richie's head in the crook of her arm and brought him close to her while she tried to think of something assuring and soothing to say, but there wasn't.

"Shit Richie," she said, "he must really be important to you."

Richie cried harder at her comment, as if agreeing with her. He stayed that way for a short while, until he'd finally calmed down and pulled away from her, "What time is it?"

"Going on eleven, you weren't asleep for long," Denise said, "and I have a feeling you won't be until this whole thing is taken care of."

They both froze when they heard police sirens coming up the street, they ran over to the front window and saw three police cars go speeding by.

"What do you think they're doing?" Richie asked.

"Probably a crash somewhere," Denise said, "the cops know better than to come here like that."

They continued to stare out the window when they saw a familiar car pull up at the curb. Denise ran out the front door with Richie right behind her. David got out of his car and was coming up to the yard to meet them.

"Good morning, honey," he said.

"Where the HELL have you been?" Denise asked as she stopped right by the car.

"Well you see I—"

"All night you were gone and now we find out you were in Union Gap?" Denise asked, "What the hell is the matter with you? What were you thinking?"

Richie realized it must have been oblivious to Denise that she was brutally slapping her uncle, so he pulled her off of him and pulled her back a few feet. "Denise, calm down!"

Denise quieted down and looked at her uncle, not with a look of remorse, but rather of realization of what she'd done. And she still felt no remorse.

"I take it your parents still don't know you do that," David said.

"Uncle David, something weird is going on," she said.

"Well I know, I got a report about the missing deputy, and I—I think we better go inside before I say anything."

"I agree," Denise replied.

Richie let go of Denise and they headed into the house, David closed the door behind them and they headed over to the living room. Richie and David sat down on the couch, Denise seated herself in a chair next to the couch.

"Allright Uncle David, where were you last night?" Denise asked.

"I found out that that deputy imposter had blown town after he did his disappearing act here and he was heading for the Union Gap, so I followed him figuring I'd find out what was going on last night. I was only a block away from catching him today when my car turned over in the middle of the road—and I lost him. I was lucky I didn't get killed myself, by the time I got out of the squad car it was reeking of gasoline—two minutes later the whole thing blew up in flames."

"So he's still on the loose?" Denise asked.

"That's right—and—upon returning to town I found out that Troy Bloch was murdered last night on his way over here."

"Oh God," Richie said.

"That can't be, we never found him," Denise said, "we went out and we searched the whole damn town, we never found him—where was he?"

"They found his body in the driver seat of a police car that had bashed into a telephone pole," David explained.

"Who could've put him there?" Denise asked.

"What?"

"Bloch didn't drive a police car, that way no one would ever know he was a cop. Someone had to have crashed the car there first, and then put his body there."

"But why?" Richie asked, "For what reason?'

"Nobody but us knows what's going on with Mason, at least so far—a deputy was supposed to come over last night and keep an eye on us—why? So the murderer wouldn't get to us, but instead he got to the deputy, had him killed and stored away in a crashed car to make it look like he was in an accident and killed himself when he slammed into the telephone pole. Then this other guy comes to the house claiming to be him so we won't get suspicious, then he slips out when no one's watching, probably to help Mason move the body. And they can see us leave from his house meaning that by the time all of us were gone, they could've easily broken in and tore up the damn place. But without the deputy ever being here and no one at the police station even knowing about the murder then there would be no witnesses with any credibility and Mason gets off scot-free. If that's the case, he had some help last night."

"Then Mason clearly isn't in this alone."

"Clearly not," Denise said.

"But that's not what I'm worried about right now," David said, "I'm worried that Mason may have more help in this than just the man who was here last night. And if that's the case then the three of you could be getting into serious trouble."

But Denise was not phased by her uncle's concerns. "We're not leaving, Uncle David, no one's going anywhere until Mason is taken care of."

"I don't think that's a smart choice, Denise," David said.

"Maybe not," Denise replied, "but I'm not going to leave my home and take Richie and Jeremy with me to some new place where we don't know anyone, and be surrounded by people who could just as easily know Mason."

"I suppose you're right," David said.

"It makes sense to me," Jeremy said as he entered the room, "We're better off staying here, we know who to avoid, what to expect, and if it should come to it, who to kill."

"Why are you here?" Denise asked, "I had you watching Mason's house."

"Nothing's happening, I think he must've already gotten rid of the body."

"Impossible," Richie finally spoke, "he couldn't have, if he put the body in the back of his truck, somebody would know."

"Maybe someone moved it for him," Jeremy said.

"Like whom?" Richie asked, "That guy who was here last night couldn't have done it, the car he drove was too small to hide a body in."

"True—but let's not forget, Richie—what with all of us running around different places, him disappearing and reappearing and someone tearing up the house while we were out, the possibilities are endless right now as to where the body can be."

"What?" David asked.

Denise sighed, "While we were out last night, Richie and Krug came looking for us and found us at the police station. By the time we got back we found the house had been broken into, the phone lines had been cut and the entire house was a mess."

David sighed and looked over at her, "Now I'm really worried about you kids."

"We'll be fine, Uncle David."

"You may be, Denise, but I'm not so sure about Richie, don't forget, he's the only witness to this case," David told her.

"That's right, and I intend on keeping him alive," Denise said, "Well Uncle David, I'd say it was about time you left before somebody saw you."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea—listen, I'm sorry about everything that's been going on, if there's anything else I could do—"

"Yeah, there is," Jeremy said, "tell that whole damn station what's going on up here, I got a feeling before the night's over, we're going to find that body."

"You're really being optimistic about this," David said.

"Maybe there's a reason for it," Jeremy replied, "Come on, Uncle David, I'll show you out."

Jeremy got up and led David to the door; Denise looked over at Richie and saw that he didn't seem to be quite "all there".

"Richie, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Krug was right," Richie said.

"What?" Denise asked.

"Last night, Krug said that more people were going to die before this was over, Troy Bloch is dead."

"He was already dead by the time Krug said that, but I agree with him," Denise said, "I think there's going to be another murder before it's over."

"I know there is," Richie said, "he's going to come after me."

"You can't know that, Richie," Denise said, "he doesn't even know that you saw him."

"He knows, dammit he knows, he must, otherwise none of this would've happened," Richie said.

"Allright, I'll give him a call and see if he can come back up here," Denise said.

"What? Why?" Richie asked.

"Because I think he'd be of more help to us here than at his job," Denise said.

Denise got up from the couch and headed into the dining room to call Krug. Jeremy came back in and closed the door behind him and headed back into the living room, "Well he'll be around later, probably bring the whole precinct with him—are you okay, Rich?"

"Yeah."

Denise came back in the living room and said, "Krug will be up here in half an hour, I told his boss that there was a nice bonus in it for him for service in the daytime."

"Why's he coming up here?" Jeremy asked.

"Because the odds are likely that there will be a bloodbath tonight, and I want him to be here when it happens," Denise said.

Krug slammed the door to his car and walked up to the house, as he raised his fist to knock on the door, it opened and Jeremy and Richie pulled him in.

"What's going on?" Krug asked.

"We need your help," Denise said.

"Fine with me—what do you need me to do?" Krug asked.

"We went over to Mason's house to look for the body and he came home hours before he was supposed to, so we had to jump out the window and get back here before he saw us," Jeremy said.

"Are you allright?" Krug asked.

"We have to find the body before he does something with it," Denise said, "and we think we might have an idea of where to look."

"Where?" Krug asked.

"Look, we have an idea to find her, and we'd all be risking our lives, but we don't have much of a choice," Denise said.

"What is it?" Krug asked.

"Jeremy's going to watch the window and see when Mason steps out, he'll be leaving again sometime today, and when he does, we're going back over there to find the body."

"What makes you so sure that he'll be leaving?" Krug asked.

"Because he is going to get a call from the hospital, asking him to come down for an immediate exam performed by Doctor Patrick Henry Rosenbloom."

"Who is Doctor Patrick Henry Rosenbloom?" Krug asked.

"He doesn't exist, that's the beauty of it," Jeremy said, "he goes down there, the nurse at the front desk tells him to take a seat in the waiting room, he'll be there for at least an hour, then they'll go through all their files and records to prove that there is no such doctor at the hospital. That should give us plenty of time to find the stiff."

"Sounds like a plan so far," Krug said.

"We'll look on the second and third floor to find the body, and you're going to stand guard for when he comes home or if anybody passing by gets suspicious," Denise explained.

"Well, I'll be back in half an hour," Jeremy said as he headed for the back door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Denise asked.

"If you need me, I'll be down at the phone booth informing Mason that he has to come down to the hospital immediately. He should be gone by the time I get back, by then, we're going to find the corpse."


	9. Chapter 9

Jeremy turned from the window and ran to the living room, "Denise! He's leaving!"

"Allright, let's move out, we've got to find that cadaver," Denise said.

Krug and Denise tucked handguns under the waistbands of their jeans, Richie already had one stuffed in his pocket, covered by his shirt. By this time, he was a bundle of nerves, his face had gone pale, and he was covered in sweat.

"Let's get going, Richie, this broad ain't gonna wait for us all night," Denise said.

"Denise," he murmured, "I don't feel so good."

"No shit," Denise said, "Richie, a lady is dead, I'd be worried if you were allright, after all, you're the only witness to this whole thing."

"I know."

"So quit dragging your feet and come on, by the time we get there the tramp won't be dead anymore," Denise said.

Richie drew in a long breath and finally said, "Allright."

They headed out and into Krug's car. He wasn't well known around this part of town, so nobody would be too suspicious of seeing him take his car and leaving it in the alley behind Mason's house. They quietly slipped out and headed up to the back door, it had been left unlocked.

"It ain't breaking and entering if the door ain't locked," Jeremy said.

"I agree," Denise said.

They slipped in and shut the door behind them, but left it unlocked incase they'd have to make a quick escape. They headed around to the front of the house, Jeremy and Richie had already started up the stairs and Denise stayed to give Krug his instructions.

"You're to stay down here and keep an eye on that window over on the end of the wall – when you see Mason's truck come into the drive, let us know, then get the hell out," she explained.

Krug saluted in what actually seemed to be a serious manner. He turned on his heel and headed over to the window from which there was a perfect view of the street and the driveway. Denise headed up the stairs after the boys and caught up with them in the hallway.

"Where was it?" Denise asked.

"In this bedroom," Jeremy pointed.

They followed him into the room and turned on the lights to get a better look. Richie went over to the door leading to the bathroom and shook the doorknob, "locked."

"I'll take care of that," Denise went over to the door and took a key ring out of her pocket. There were five different skeleton keys on it and she tried each one in the keyhole. The bolt shifted from the third key, Denise turned the knob and the door swung open. Richie flipped on the light switch to his side, and all they saw was a near-blinding white bathroom.

"Clean as a whistle," Jeremy said, "nothing out of the ordinary here."

Denise strutted over to the white porcelain bathtub and looked down, "Oh yeah?"

Richie and Jeremy followed her and saw a dark layer of caked on blood on the floor of the tub.

"Oh God," Richie muttered to himself.

"If you're going to puke, do it in the sink," Denise said.

"Why didn't it wash down?" Jeremy asked.

Denise turned on the taps and nothing happened, "No water—that's why. That's also why he left the door locked after moving the body."

"So the body was here," Richie said, "but where is it now?"

"How many bedrooms are left on this floor to search?" Denise asked.

"S-Six," Jeremy hissed in recollection.

"Well, let's check them out, because that broad has to be here somewhere," Denise said, "after all, she didn't just get up and walk away."

This was a weird business for Krug, he was used to being an escort, bodyguard, hitman, watchman, even a gravedigger, but rarely a lookout. Especially for a murderer, he was used to being a murderer, or at least a potential one if nothing else. It had been half an hour now and still no sight of Mason returning from his alleged doctor's appointment.

It had also been half an hour since he'd heard anything from anyone upstairs. It didn't take a genius to know that it meant they hadn't found the corpse yet.

_If I'd murdered this dame, where would I stuff her?_ He asked himself.

He immediately answered himself; stuff her up the fireplace no doubt. Considering this house had a fireplace. If it didn't, he knew the next best answer, _burn her in the furnace_. Oh but there had been quite a watch on this house, and if smoke had been coming out of it, he would have at least heard of it from one of these three kids by now.

If they were right and he really offed a dame——they had to be right, they wouldn't go through all this trouble if they weren't. But just one kid saw what really happened, could they take his word for it? Of course they could, he saw what kind of a wreck this kid Richie had become. Nobody could fake it to look that realistic, not even anyone he had known or worked for, or even murdered himself.

_How ironic_, he thought to himself, _these kids want me, an assassin and hitman, to help them catch some prestigious guy who offs a hooker, if that isn't a kick._

All the while he kept his eye staring out the window, nobody came near the driveway, nothing had changed.

"That's it?" Denise asked.

"That's all of them, she's not anywhere on this floor," Jeremy said.

"Well then we'll have to check the third floor next," Denise said.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Richie said.

Richie and Jeremy headed over to the backstairs leading up to the third floor, Denise went back to the last set of stairs and called from the top, "Hey Krug! See anything yet?"

"Not yet!" he replied.

"Okay! We're going up to the third floor now, so keep your eyes peeled!"

There was a long silence, and finally, "——Okay!"

Denise turned and once again followed the boys up the stairs.

"I'm really starting to hate this," Richie said, more to himself than to his friends though.

"Well it's no picnic for us either," Denise said in return, "but we're still here, aren't we?"

"Of course," Richie said, "I want to thank you two for agreeing to go along with this."

"Give me a break," Jeremy spoke up, "Do you honestly think that we'd leave you hanging in this mess? How long have you known us Richie Ryan?"

"Evidently not as long as we figured," Denise answered for Richie.

They reached the top of the stairs and saw they all had their work cut out for them. The hallway on this floor appeared to be nothing but a maze full of doors. Richie groaned as he subconsciously swiftly ran a hand through his hair.

"How are we going to get all these rooms covered before he gets back?" Richie asked.

"Anymore I don't think I care whether or not Mason finds us, I swear he tries one false move on either of you I'm opening his throat until his head rolls off his shoulders," Denise said.

"How would you do that?" Richie asked.

Denise was at a loss for an answer since she didn't have anything on her at the time being. Richie slowly nodded with an irritating smirk on his face, "See?" he asked.

"No matter," Denise said as she walked down the hall, "A house this big has to have plenty of knives in it, if not knives, something else that would do just as well."

"Where're you going, sis?" Jeremy asked. Richie had to agree it seemed a bit like she was abandoning them to sort through this floor themselves.

"You guys look through the rooms at this end of the hall, I'll look over here," she called back, "We should be able to cover more ground that way—and if that body is up here, we should be able to find it."

That being said, Denise turned and went down a corner at the end of the room and disappeared out of sight.

"You know," Richie said to Jeremy, "I can't believe she's your sister sometimes."

Jeremy made a noise that sounded like that of a combined grunt and snort, "You and me both – come on, let's see what we find."

They searched the rooms one by one and though they made good time on covering every room on the floor, it felt like an eternity before they were through. Most of the rooms were for storage; they were full of old antiques, lamps, one room kept a dress form in it, many old clothes, a violin case with a Stradivarius inside, there were some old paintings, kept in frames and other things to protect them. There were also large trunks and moving boxes in most of the rooms, all of which had been searched, only to find more things put way for storage. The body wasn't anywhere to be found, and they were about ready to give up.

"This is insane," Richie said, "we've searched through every room in the whole damn house and she's not here."

"Yeah, what'd he do?" Jeremy asked, "Cremate her in the furnace or something?"

"It's highly doubtful but not impossible," Denise responded.

Their attention went to the bright light that appeared at the window, and disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Oh swell," Richie said, "now it's going to rain."

"Might do a hell of a lot more than that," Jeremy said as he looked out the window, "those are some pretty big and dark clouds moving in –fast."

"Denise," Richie said, "I don't want to be here anymore –— can we leave now?"

"Yeah I guess we might as well –— doesn't look like we're going to find anything here tonight, huh Jeremy?" Denise asked.

"No – no, I guess not," he said, "I'll go tell Krug we're leaving."

Jeremy headed down the stairs with Richie and Denise behind him, while Jeremy went down the second flight of stairs, Richie stayed by a window on the second floor to rest, and Denise stayed with him.

"You feeling allright, Frizz?" Denise asked, "You're looking pale."

"I don't like this, Denise," Richie said.

"Who would? It's a terrible situation, but if we can find the body we'll get you out of it. Clearly the broad isn't around here so we'll have to look elsewhere."

"Hey SIS!" Jeremy called up the stairs.

"What?" she called back.

"Krug says he's going back to work so if we need him again to call him," Jeremy said.

"Fine," Denise said. It wasn't loud enough for Jeremy to hear her, but it didn't matter.

"DENISE!" he called.

"What is it now?" Denise asked.

They heard the young man stomping up the stairs in a rush, "We've got to get out of here now!"

"What?" Denise asked.

"It's Mason, he just pulled into the drive and he's going to be here any minute," Jeremy said.

"Oh shit!"

Richie lost his balance in excitement and fell against the window, the glass broke and he fell through, all he could do was scream as his body fell to the ground.

Richie wasn't sure whether he was dead or alive, he was surrounded by darkness and all he could feel was a booming headache. Wait a minute –— if he could still feel pain, then he had to be alive. Richie heard voices, he was almost positive it was Denise and Jeremy, but he wasn't sure. He forced his eyes open and saw them above him, standing at the edge of the room on the second floor where he just was. They jumped down and got him up on his feet, Jeremy took him by one arm and Denise the other and they ran before Mason had a chance to see them.

"Do you think he saw us?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't think so," Denise replied.

"Let me go!" Richie demanded, it was the first thing he'd said since he woke up.

If they had planned to let him go, it wasn't fast enough for Richie's patience, he put up a fight with them, causing all three of them to lose their balances and they fell to the ground, their bodies tangles of limbs and torsos.

"Richie!" Denise screamed, "Are you allright?"

"I – I think so," he replied, he hadn't given much thought to it.

"Come here," Denise reached past Jeremy and held Richie's face in her hands, she gasped, "My God, Richie –— when we get back to the house I'm going to have to get a better look at your face – you're covered in them."

"Covered in what?" Richie asked.

"Cuts," Jeremy said, "even I can see them."

"After hitting the window like that I think it's a wonder I'm not dead yet," Richie said.

"Come on Jeremy, help me get him up," Denise said.

Jeremy slipped Denise's feet out from under him and pulled Richie's arm out from under his back and they got up and headed for the house. Once again, Denise had Richie by one side and Jeremy by the other, to make sure he didn't fall.

"Suppose he did see us – then what?" Richie asked.

"Then it's curtains for him," Jeremy said, "That offing bastard is going to have to get through us before he gets to you – and you know we won't allow that."

"Do you feel something?" Richie asked.

"What?" Denise asked.

"Something," Richie answered.

There was silence among them for a minute, then finally – "I do," Jeremy replied.

"What?" Denise stopped so she might see what they were talking about.

She felt it too, "It's starting to rain."

"Great," Richie groaned, "Just – peachy."

Jeremy took a step forward, "Come on, let's get home before somebody sees us."

A bright light flashed on them, and they were all temporarily blinded as they heard a loud and clear voice, "Too late – they already see you."

The thrice of teenagers tried to see past the light to find out who was talking, the voice that spoke to them was loud, familiar, and almost cynical.

"Hello?" Jeremy called.

"Who said hello?" the voice asked.

"Whoever it is," Richie said, "He has a sense of humor."

"Who's out there?" the voice asked.

Denise saw past the light and grimly smiled, "Nobody you need to worry about – Mister Nash."

"What?" Richie asked.

The light turned off and the man walked up to the teenagers, "I got a bit anxious when you weren't here."

Now Richie knew that voice, the light had left him seeing bright dots, so he couldn't clearly see the face, so he asked, "Connor?"

Richie closed his eyes, waiting for the spots to disappear, he heard Connor walk up to him and place his hands on the sides of his face, "Richie – what happened to your face?"

"I fell through a window," he answered.

"A window?" Connor repeatedly, "What?"

"It's a long story," Denise answered, "We have to get Richie inside."

Connor went ahead and opened the front door as Jeremy and Denise led Richie inside. Jeremy took Richie by the arm and helped him down on the couch – after informing Connor to lock the front door, Denise went off to the back of the house.

"How do I look, Jeremy?" Richie asked.

"You don't want an honest answer, pal," Jeremy said.

"Is it bad?" Richie asked.

"T'ain't good."

"Would someone mind telling me just what has gone on tonight?" Connor asked.

"Would you mind telling me why you came up here after I specifically told you not to come?" Denise asked as she came back with a first aid kid, "You told me you were staying at a hotel."

"I also told you I was getting into town by five," Connor said, "I went to the hotel, I checked in, I unpacked – I called here several times and no one answered, so I assumed something was wrong, so I came up here – no one was here when I arrived."

"I'm afraid you came at a bad time," Denise told him as she headed over to the couch.

"Why? What's happened?" Connor asked.

Denise looked back at Connor momentarily and said nothing, she got back to the current matter at hand – cleaning Richie's cuts.

"Someone tell me what's going on here – if my nephew's involved in a case like this I want to know what's going on," Connor said.

"I'll tell you," Jeremy said, "We went over to Mason's house to find the broad. We didn't find her but we found out where he kept her."

"Where?" Connor asked.

"In a tub – in a bathroom on the second floor," Jeremy said, "we know she was there because the entire bottom of the tub is covered in dry blood."

"Which leads me to believe that he didn't attempt to preserve the body – or to keep it fresh," Denise said as she finished with Richie, "I think he put her there for a short while, before he could find a proper place to hide her – someplace where nobody would think to look – should anyone get suspicious."

"What makes you say that?" Connor asked.

"The water isn't running over there – and if he **did** put the body on ice while she was in the tub, the ice would've melted within time – washing at least part of the blood down the drain. Meaning it didn't take him long to find a place to put her, but where?" she asked.

"She's nowhere in the house, we searched all four floors," Jeremy said.

"And it's not likely that he burnt her body, otherwise we would've known something had been burning while we were in the house," Denise said, "Trust me on this one – I've got a nose like a bloodhound."

Jeremy shook his head, "After today, I'm not even going to say anything."

"So what now?" Connor asked.

"I don't even know where to begin," Denise said, "The possibilities are endless as to what he could've done with her."

"Maybe he drove her body out to a ditch or somewhere and left her out there," Richie thought.

"Good idea, genius, but he drives a pickup truck," Denise said, "It'd be a little odd if people saw her corpse flopping around in the back like a fish out of water."

"Maybe he wrapped her up in a bag or something," Jeremy thought, "Or – maybe he put her in a storage trunk or something and dumped her off somewhere."

Denise laughed through the side of her mouth, "Jeremy, I don't exactly think you're playing with a full deck of cards here –"

"Why not?" Jeremy asked, "Last night, we weren't always watching him – Hell, at one point none of us were even here, he could've seen his opportunity then."

"With all the ruckus that was going on last night, I seriously doubt he had the balls to try a stunt like that," Denise responded, "Think about it – with everybody coming and going, it would've seemed too risky."

"Well then what do you think he did with the body?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know – I don't know, all I know is that broad, whoever the hell she is or whoever the hell she _was_, she is **not** in that house!" Denise said.

"Maybe –" Richie said.

All eyes turned to him, "What?" Connor asked, "Maybe what?"

"I was thinking –—" he hesitated, "Maybe while we were gone, he took her body and propped her up in the truck in the passenger seat –—nobody saw him and if they passed by it would've just looked like she was riding with him – maybe that's how he got rid of the body."

There was momentary silence in the room, finally Denise spoke, "Maybe you got something there, Rich – but let's say for argument sake that that is what he did, where would he take her? How would he do it without getting caught?"

"Maybe he went to some place where nobody would ever think to look for her, some abandoned place that's ready to fall apart, or—some wooded area—maybe off the land—somewhere near the Pacific Northwest—someone might find her there and think that she met an unfortunate death there."

"That's highly unlikely," Jeremy said, "From the way you described her, no woman in her right mind dressed like that would be going to a place like that – if anyone did find her, they'd know she was put there."

"Well I'm all out of ideas," Richie said, "There has to be a reason that that woman is not in that house over there. She has to be somewhere, but I can't think of where."

"I'm going to call Uncle David," Jeremy said, "Maybe he knows something we don't."

"I seriously doubt that, but go ahead," Denise said, "Well –— Connor, are you staying long?"

"I might as well – I don't exactly know what the hell's going on here but I want to make sure my nephew's allright."

"Fine," Denise looked down at her wristwatch, "Well – I guess if we're going to be here long, I might as well make dinner."

Jeremy stood by the phone listening to it ring for the 40th time, "Oh come on— pick up, Uncle David – for fuck's sake."

Denise watched Jeremy from her position at the stove – she finished stirring the spaghetti, put the turning fork down and went over to her brother. "Jeremy, give it up," Denise said as she took the receiver from her brother and hung up, "At this rate, Louie Armstrong will come back from the dead and serenade us with his horn before Uncle David picks up the phone, now come on, dinner's going to be ready."

Denise went back to the stove, turned off the burner and dumped the spaghetti into a colander in the sink and ran hot water over it for a few seconds. There were two pans left on the stove, one with meatballs steaming, and the other with spaghetti sauce boiling. "Everyone dish up," Denise said.

Connor and Jeremy got their dinner and sat at the table, Denise served herself a helping large enough to describe her as 'eating like a bird', but Richie stayed over by the window, looking out.

"Richie –" Denise groaned as she put down her fork, "For fuck's sake, Rich –— get your narrow arse over here and eat – You're not doing anyone any good by making yourself sick."

"I feel fine," Richie quietly replied, not for a second did his eyes look away from the window.

"You are _not_ fine," Denise said, "You've barely said two words since I started on dinner – and all you do is look out the damn window. Either you get over here and eat – and calm yourself down, or I just may have to sedate you."

"With what?" Richie asked bitterly, not believing a word of it.

"Demerol, morphine, heroin – Rich – I don't care if I have to bust open a few barbiturates in with a highball – if you don't get back to what's left of your normal self –

I'm putting you under." Richie knew now that it was in fact a threat Denise would carry through.

Slowly and reluctantly, Richie moved from the window seat and went over to the sink and scooped up a plateful of spaghetti, and covered it in sauce, then sat himself down at the table to join them. He got a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and swallowed part of it – but it didn't go down smoothly, he started coughing and gagging and forced the food out of his throat and spit it back out. Jeremy looked away and Connor closed his eyes momentarily, clearly any appetite anyone may have had was ruined by what they just witnessed.

"You allright, Rich?" Jeremy asked.

"I think so."

"Richie, do you need me to put you under until you can calm yourself down?" Denise asked.

"No!" Richie immediately replied.

"I don't know, after your little performance, I'd say it's quite obvious you're incapable of controlling yourself," Denise thought aloud, "Perhaps I should give you something that'll at least make you content for a few hours."

"Denise no! – Please!" Richie begged.

Connor couldn't believe what he was seeing, Richie, on the verge of tears – begging, pleading with Denise not to sedate him – and here he was, wanting to help the lad, but found himself unable to do so.

"I don't know Rich," Jeremy said, "Let's face it, you could use the rest – maybe it's for the better that she does it."

"No!" Richie stood up from the table and turned to go out the back door. He heard Denise say to Jeremy, "Quickly, get him!" and he turned around to retaliate, but it was too late, Jeremy grabbed Richie and had one arm locked over his and the other wrapped around Richie's neck, with a grip held so tightly on him, Richie found it impossible to fight back.

Denise got up from the table and headed into the dining room closet.

"No! Jeremy – please! Don't let her do it!" Richie begged.

Connor stood up and tried to head over to Jeremy to help Richie, but he couldn't – he couldn't move at all, it were as if sudden paralysis had taken over his body – all he could do was stand where he was, and stare into those deep blue eyes that practically pleaded with him for help.

"You should learn by now something about Jeremy," Denise said as she reentered the kitchen with a syringe in her hand, "He may be your friend, but he's my brother first. He'll listen to me before he will you."

Richie cried as he desperately tried one last time to get Jeremy to let him go – Jeremy instead tightened his grip on Richie and said, "Sorry Rich – I've got to do what I see as best for my friend." Jeremy looked past Richie and over to Connor, "You – get over here and hold him – we have to prepare him."

Connor gave a slight nod as he approached them, Jeremy moved out from behind Richie and Connor grabbed the lad by his shoulders and pinned his back against the wall so he couldn't move.

"Connor!" the boy wept, "Please! Don't let them do this to me!"

"I'm sorry, Richie," the Immortal's reply truly sounded regretful, "I think they're right on this –"

Richie cried harder at Connor's response, Connor had expected that – he truly was sorry but he couldn't let Richie go – he was worried the boy might hurt himself if he stayed this way.

Jeremy cleaned Richie's forearm where he would receive the injection, Denise removed the excess liquid in the syringe and approached Richie, who struggled more than ever to break loose. It hadn't occurred to him that by putting up the fight he was, he placed his arm out to easy access for the needle, and Denise pressed it further into his arm.

The painful shriek that emerged from deep within Richie sounded almost inhuman, it was enough to frighten Connor, thinking that something had gone wrong in the procedure.

"You can let him go now," Jeremy told him.

Connor took his hands off the boy's shoulders and stepped back, watching the vulnerable, hysterical, and exhausted child that used to be Richie, as he leaned against the wall and continued sobbing uncontrollably.

"My God, what have you done to him?" Connor asked.

"This is nothing done on our part," Denise said, "He did this to himself."

Richie's cries became harder to listen to as he sounded more than ever as if he were in excruciating pain. He slowly slid down to the floor and placed his cupped hands over his eyes as he wept. Connor wanted so desperately to go over to the lad, to embrace him, to assure him it would be allright, but he couldn't – once again, he found himself in a situation where he couldn't move. He watched as Jeremy and Denise approached him, they grabbed him by his arms in between his biceps and shoulders, and pulled him to his feet and they pulled him out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Watching them, Connor thought – it was like watching prison guards taking a man to the electric chair. Richie was trying to resist them, but he was too weak, his cries getting lower and a bit calmer, Connor followed after them.

He watched them place lay Richie down on the couch, Jeremy propped his head up on a pillow and Denise draped a light sheet over him – Connor was shocked by the sudden silence – he walked over to the couch to make sure Richie was allright – when he saw the boy, his eyes were closed, his lips were a bit mashed together into a frown, and his stomach was just barely rising and lowering as he breathed.


	10. Chapter 10

"He's just asleep, Connor," Jeremy said, "Nothing to worry about."

Connor turned to the teenagers, "What did you give him?" he asked accusingly.

"It's a rare relaxer – our father used it occasionally when he was on the verge of snapping, " Denise explained, "He's the only one who knows where it came from, and he's the only one who knows how to get it – fortunately we have a bit of a supply of it stashed around the house."

Connor glanced back down at the sleeping youth, "What's it done to him?"

"Nothing, it has no side effects, it does nothing to him emotionally, and it won't make him go crazy either," Jeremy said.

"Then what was wrong with him?" Connor asked.

Jeremy didn't answer, he avoided all eye contact with the Immortal, and instead, fixated his eyes on the floor. Denise answered for him, "He hates shots."

Connor's eyes shot up past Jeremy and over to his sister, demanding an explanation.

"He has for years," Denise said, "When we were younger and we were all together, we got into a lot of fights – either with the parents at our foster homes, or their own kids that didn't want us around. We wound up with a lot of injuries after the fights – usually we had to go to the hospital to be treated. They submitted us to a whole series of shots while we were there, mainly ones that were unnecessary –tetanus, measles, the flu, allergy shots – one time, they told us Jeremy had to get rabies shots, and you know how that works, don't you?"

Connor nodded, "Twenty shots into the stomach."

"Yes—," Denise said, "Fortunately, that was a false alarm."

"But," Jeremy added, "Out of the three of us, Richie was always the worst – he usually got more shots than us, and he couldn't stand it – a – a few times he had to be sedated–– well, they had a lot of sedatives and tranquilizers that we didn't know what they were or where they came from – we just knew that you had to take them through a needle."

"And Richie used to worry that if they put him under with them, that he'd never wake up," Denise said, "But he'll be allright, Connor—if you just leave him alone."

Connor looked back down at Richie, now it seemed the relaxer was working, his breathing was steady and, his body seemed relaxed instead of the tense form it was in moments ago.

"You're sure he won't wake up?" Connor asked.

"Not for a while," Denise answered.

"So now that we don't have to worry about him, what do we do?" Jeremy asked.

"Allright, there has to be a reason why Uncle David's not answering at the station—Jeremy, you go out and look for him—if you find him, bring him back here, but tell him no backup—I'm going to call Krug and have him come back over—if Mason decides to take action, we may need some help—"

"And what do I do?" Connor asked.

"You? You stay here, watch Richie, and make sure nothing happens," Denise said, "We can't take a chance of leaving him unguarded when we're low on backup."

"What do I do if he does anything?" Connor asked.

"Nothing."

* * *

Half an hour had passed, Jeremy had gone out to find David, and Denise was expecting Krug to come at any time. Connor watched Richie as he slept, except for his light breathing, Richie never moved. Denise had gone into the den to look out the window and get a better look at Mason's house. She couldn't believe what she saw.

"He's out there," she said.

"What?" Connor asked.

"The bastard's just standing out there…the rain's pouring down like a Biblical storm, and he's out there standing on his porch with the light on," Denise told him.

"What do you think he's waiting for?" Connor asked.

"Who knows?" Denise asked, "He's looking straight ahead—there's nothing on this side of the street that faces his house—we're down a ways from him. It's like he's not looking **at** anything. Just looking **past** it."

"Maybe he's waiting on his partner," Connor said.

"I don't know…last we heard, Uncle David lost him in the Union Gap," Denise returned.

"Union Gap's not that far from here—he could've come back."

"Uncle David did, so why hasn't he come by, or at least picked up the damn phone?" Denise thought.

"Maybe he ran into that guy and didn't get so lucky," Connor said.

"I hope not," Denise said, "Uncle David's the only officer who'd ever believe us—he's the only one who believes Richie."

Connor went into the hall and looked out the window in the front door, "A car just pulled up."

"What kind of car?" Denise asked.

Connor squinted his eyes to get a better look, "From what I can tell—it looks like a white Sedan to me."

"That had better be Krug," Denise told him, "Open the door."

Connor opened the door and Krug came in carrying an umbrella.

"Krug Marrow," he said.

Krug looked at him. "Mister Nash."

"Now that you two are reacquainted, knock it off," Denise said.

Krug shook his umbrella and closed it. "I haven't seen it rain this hard in 10 years," he told Connor, then he turned to Denise, "By the way, I hope you didn't want Jason here tonight as well, he's out on another job."

"I don't care, just so long as someone's here," Denise said, "Krug, I think we got a problem."

"What is it?"

"After you left, Mason came back while we were still in the house. Richie fell through a window in a room on the second floor at the back of the house, we went out after him. We got him and ran back here before Mason could catch us, I'm not sure he saw us but he must know we were there –— he has to—and now he's out on his front porch as we speak. And you know damn well as I do that no one in their right mind would stand out in that kind of weather if they didn't have a reason. He must be waiting for someone, he's keeping his porch light on," Denise told him.

"And where's the kid?" Krug asked.

"Out cold," Denise said, "He gave me no choice, I had to sedate him."

"And your brother?" Krug asked.

"He went out looking for our Uncle David, we can't get him down at the police station so something must be wrong."

"Who answered?" Krug asked.

"No one, that's the problem, if there were someone down at the police station, they'd at least answer. Coming here would be another thing, but they always pick up the damn phone," Denise said.

"Then I'm guessing whoever bumped off the deputy went back for the rest," Krug said.

"That's what I'm thinking, and we all know by now that the guy must know Mason, there's just no other explanation for it all," Denise replied.

"So what do we do now?" Connor asked.

"Nothing's happening right now, so I suggest we get ready for a long night," Denise said.

* * *

Connor entered the living room and looked over at Richie. He was still asleep on the couch, in fact it seemed he hadn't moved a muscle in the last three hours.

"Denise," he called. When there was no answer, he tried again, "Denise."

"What?"

"How long is Richie supposed to be asleep?" he asked.

"That's hard to say, I never used that stuff on him before," Denise said, "On our father it usually works for a few hours, then he wakes up fresh as a daisy."

"Well I hope Richie wakes up soon," Connor said, "If something happens tonight, I don't want him left unable to defend himself if we can't protect him."

"He'll be fine. I called the agency where Krug and Jason work. I told them that as soon as Jason got in tonight I want him over here. When Jeremy finds Uncle David they'll both be back here. I don't think we have much to worry about with that many people here," Denise said.

Denise turned her attention back to the window in the den. The rain had let up and made it easier to see out the window, and Denise looked up at Mason's house. "Oh boy."

"What?" Connor asked.

"Mason's got company," Denise said.

"What?" Connor asked.

"What?" Krug repeated.

Both men went into the den and looked up the street and saw a man standing with Mason on his front porch. Mason was pacing around a bit as he talked with the man, and he turned and pointed down to Denise's house and that got everyone's attention.

"Oh shit," Denise said.

"You think they'll come over here?" Connor asked.

"I don't know," Krug said, "They seem to be planted where they are."

"We'll wait and see what happens—if they come down here, then we'll do something," Denise told them.

"You think that's the imposter that bumped off the deputy?" Krug asked.

"If it isn't, then Drew Mason must be forming a whole army to bring over here," Denise said.

They stayed at the window and waited, both men seemed to be discussing something or someone down at the Kramer's house.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Krug asked.

"Who," Denise corrected him.

"What?"

"Who—who do you think they're talking about?" Denise asked as she turned to him, "Richie, it has to be—he doesn't know us, not personally anyway—and while he may know Duncan MacLeod he doesn't know his—cousin, Mr. Nash, and he sure as hell doesn't know you. There can be no other explanation."

"Allright, if that is who they're talking about," Krug replied, "What are they talking about?"

"My guess would be considering how much damage Richie's done, how their last idea worked out, and how they're going to have to step it up next time to make it the last time," Denise said.

Krug was rather amazed, considering she was right; she really seemed to be on the ball tonight. "You're sharp about this stuff, ain't you?"

Denise was feeling a bit amusing tonight, despite what was going on and replied, "I watch a lot of Alfred Hitchcock movies, what's it to you?"

"He's coming," Connor said.

That drew their attention back to the window, Mason's guest had gotten out in the street and was coming down their way. Connor and Krug both headed for the front door to give the guy what was coming to him once he got there, Denise stayed at the window. "Get back here!" she called, "He's going back."

"What?" the men asked as they reentered the room.

"He got about halfway down here, then he just stopped—now he's going back," Denise said.

They looked out the window and sure enough Denies was right, the guy was retreating back to Mason's house.

"What the hell is going on here?" Denise asked in a low, tired voice.

Connor looked at her and saw she probably could've used a syringe of that sedative herself. He knew for a fact that putting up with Richie was exhausting as it was, but added to everything else that had gone on in the last couple of days, it was a wonder to him that she could even stay on her feet.

"You know, Denise—we basically have everything covered here, why don't you go lie down for a while?"

"I don't want to lie down," she replied, "If I do, I won't be good for anything."

"Allright, but I have to tell you sleeping standing up isn't too comfortable," Krug told her.

"I'm not going to sleep," Denise told him.

"Well then you might go check on Richie," Connor said, "We'll keep an eye on things here."

Denise wasn't sure about that, all the same she went back into the living room and saw Richie was sprawled and stretched out on the couch in a more comfortable position now. She walked over to the couch and knelt down beside it so she was closer to Richie's current height.

"You've probably got the easiest time tonight of all of us," she said to him, not expecting a reply.

She was surprised to hear Richie moaning in his sleep as he tossed and turned a bit before opening his eyes and sitting up to look at her. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice so low Denise could hardly hear him.

"Nothing," she replied in an equally quiet tone, "Jeremy's gone out looking for Uncle David—Krug's back here, Mason has company over at his house, but they're staying there."

Richie looked at her with terror in his eyes, "He's still there?"

"Yeah—for now, anyway," Denise responded.

Richie lowered his head back on the pillow against the couch's arm and squeezed his eyes shut and moaned.

_Not again_, Denise groaned to herself. "Now what's wrong?" she asked.

Richie refused to open his eyes, he wouldn't look at her as he explained, "If Jeremy gets killed by them, I'll never forgive myself."

"Now don't act like an idiot, Richie, none of this is your fault," Denise said.

"Yes it is," Richie replied as he turned away, "If I hadn't seen what happened, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"There wouldn't have been anything to see if Mason hadn't snuffed that lady, and you know that," Denise said, "You had nothing to do with that."

But Richie wasn't hearing it, and Denise noticed that his moaning was louder than before, and she also noticed that he was squirming like a night crawler out of the mud. Denise grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up and forced him to look at her. "What's the matter now, Richie?"

"I feel sick," he groaned.

Denise sat down beside Richie and pulled him close to her, his head resting against her chest as he writhed and moaned. Denise looked straight ahead and took deep breaths and gently stroked Richie's head and his back, it was hard enough being this close to him while he was like this, she wasn't sure she could handle having to see him like that anymore. Another reason she was avoiding looking at Richie—she still felt guilty for hitting him the other night when he was crying, right after he'd seen the murder—and she was worried if she had to see him like this anymore, she'd snap at him again. She knew full well that Richie was having enough trouble as it was, without having Joan Crawford for a friend.

It had already happened a few times as it was since they'd moved to Seacouver and met up with Richie again, every time, minor damage was done, and Richie always forgave her, why he kept doing it, she didn't know. As glad as she was to have Richie around, she honestly didn't know why he kept coming back, knowing full well that she might do it again. And why did she do it? She didn't know, it just seemed that every so often, something would get to her and she would—

No, no! She was not going to let it happen again, instead, she dug the nails of her free hand into her thigh and gave herself a dose of her own medicine. Amidst the pain, there was minor relief in knowing that Richie wasn't the one that got hurt, and despite or because of the pain, Denise also knew that the only thing that could be better than that, would be sticking them into Mason's neck, and seeing the look on his face as she watched him die. To make it an even sweeter deal, would be if Richie could be there too, and watch the bastard die painfully.

As the pain passed, so did the thought, and it was then that Denise noticed Richie was resting now, quiet and still but not rigid. She would've thought he was asleep, except as she was starting to relax herself, she heard Richie say something, but saying it with his face buried in her chest, it was muffled.

"What'd you say?" she asked.

Richie pulled himself away from Denise and sat up. "I said nothing's changed. You remember how it was when we were living together in foster care?"

Denise nodded, "I remember. The bastards would go out for a couple hours, the whole time we'd try to think of a way to get out—to runaway, and where to, but everything we came up with always was a dead end, so all we could do was watch ourselves when they came home, drunk to the eyeballs."

Richie nodded. "And you remember how it was after that?"

"Yeah—sure—we all took shifts standing guard at night—incase anybody'd come in. They never did."

Foster care was one of the last things Denise had ever wanted to discuss again, especially after the hell she and Jeremy had been put through after Richie left. On the other hand, she was on her last nerve about the murder, and right now would gladly talk about anything else.

"Well, there were some minor advantages while we were together there," Denise added.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, as loose as they were with the foster checks, they never remembered blowing all of it, so they never found out we were taking part of it, and that sure came in handy."

"Yep," Richie replied.

"You remember the time Jeremy came home with those three box cutters so we could protect ourselves?" Denise asked.

And it was then she saw Richie's face had become a mask of horror. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Jeremy—he hasn't come back yet," Richie said.

But Denise shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it, Richie."

"But what if—?"

"Jeremy is a runt, but he's not an idiot. He knows better than to get caught," Denise replied, "Don't worry, Richie, he'll come back."

"But when?"

"When he finds Uncle David."

"But what if he doesn't find him?" Richie asked.

"Oh come on, Richie," Denise said, "What do you think happened? Do you think the earth just swallowed him up somewhere?"

"What if he's dead? What if they buried him? Or burnt the body? You'd never find it," Richie said.

Denise could've slapped Richie right then and there for nothing more than the questions he was asking. "You worry too much, Richie. Do you think he survived 14 years in foster care by being an easy target? If he could survive foster care, he can survive anything."

Richie didn't say anything, he didn't even look at Denise, and she wasn't sure he'd even heard her.

"I'll be back in a minute," Denise got up from the couch and left the room, "Don't move."

Denise went back to where Connor and Krug were taking turns looking out the window and discussing their options. "What's the verdict?" Denise asked.

"Nothing yet," Connor said, "They're still out there. How's Richie?"

"He's awake," Denise said, "That's about the only good news to it."

Krug turned away from the window and looked at Denise. "What's wrong with him?"

Denise took a minute before answering that, it wasn't an answer that came easy. "Richie's not like Jeremy and myself, we grew up under very similar circumstances, but he's never had to kill anyone to survive—he's still got a conscience to him, that's both a blessing and a curse for him. He doesn't know what it's like to have a murder hanging over his head, to have his conscience ripping at him night and day to the point of absolute madness, until finally one day it just dies out. But, that also means he doesn't know how subtle everything gets once it has passed, so upon seeing the murder, he's been bombarded with trauma—horror—anxiety—tension—he's about two inches from a nervous breakdown is my guess. Please do keep in mind that he's the sole witness to the murder, and knows that every attack we take is aimed directly at him."

Krug just nodded as he turned back to the window. "I can see why you had to sedate him."

"And I'm afraid before the night's over, I will again," Denise added, "I'm going to take him upstairs and get him away from the main action down here."

"Before you do," Connor said, "Could I see him for a minute?"

"He's your nephew," was Denise's only answer.

Connor took it as a yes. "I'll only be a minute," he told her.

* * *

While Denise took his place at the window, Connor headed to the living room and found Richie seated on the couch with his knees drawn into his chest. He looked over at Connor, but acted like he didn't even notice he was there.

"Richie—you okay?" Connor asked as he seated himself beside Richie.

"I'd feel better if I knew where Jeremy was," he responded, "How's—everything going?"

"Oh, everything's fine," Connor assured the boy, "We've got those two watched like a hawk."

"Two?"

"Yeah—someone's visiting with him—we're not sure who, but we think it's the guy their uncle went chasing in the Union Gap."

Connor noticed that Richie's breathing became heavy very quickly, and he thought the boy would start hyperventilating soon. Connor slipped a protective arm around his back and drew Richie closer to him, despite the boy's protests. "Richie, calm down—it's going to be allright—we'll take care of Mason, the important thing right now is that you get through this allright. That's our biggest concern right now."

Richie quieted down and Connor thought that that was the end of the problem, but the initial shock of something wet coming in contact with his shoulder, told him something was wrong.

"Now what's wrong?" Connor asked.

Richie pulled away from Connor's embrace and scooted over to the end of the couch and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. After that, he was too embarrassed to even look at Connor, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Connor repeated, "You can tell me."

Richie refused to even face Connor when he told him. "This isn't going to be over until I'm dead. Mason isn't going to rest until he's killed me."

"He's not going to, not with us around," Connor said, "He doesn't stand a chance of getting through to you."

"If he wants me dead, he'll find a way," Richie replied, still not daring to look at Connor.

"Not with us around, you've got me, Denise, Jeremy and David are coming back, Krug's here, Jason is going to be here, when Duncan and Tessa get back they'll—"

Richie jerked around like a spinning top to face Connor, "You can't tell them that! They'd never believe it. They think this guy Mason is some kind of saint or something; you'd never be able to convince them otherwise. I know I can't." Richie turned back around so he wouldn't have to look at Connor.

"Richie—how old are you?"

"17, why?"

"Uh-huh, well—" While Richie waited for Connor to continue, he was caught off guard and jerked back by his arms, and Connor had Richie on his back across his lap so he could see the boy as he talked to him. "—I have about 457 years' advantage over you. Duncan will listen to me."

"How can you be so sure?" Richie asked.

"If need be, I'll force him," Connor said.

"You can't do that," Richie said.

"Why not?"

"Because, they'll want to know how you know what's going on here."

"That's easy, I'll tell them I came by to see them, they weren't there—"

"But how would you know I'm here? You'd have to tell them you know Jeremy and Denise to tell them that, and you can't do that can you?" Richie asked.

"No I can't—" Connor realized, "Duncan can be understanding when he has to be, but I don't know how I'd be able to explain how I know them without there being trouble."

"How did you meet them?" Richie asked.

"Denise didn't tell you?" Connor asked.

"Well—Denise has a way of calling them as she sees them, and what she sees isn't always how it happened."

"Well we met in New York, during a fight."

"What kind of fight?" Richie asked.

"Bar fight—nothing much, but enough to get their attention."

Richie couldn't remember if that was how Denise had told it or not, but he didn't care, he was too tired to care. He was so tired he could've fallen asleep then and there and not cared. Connor noticed so he slipped one hand behind Richie's head and lifted him up enough for Connor to slip out from under him, and he slipped a pillow under Richie's head to make up for the absence of his lap, and with that he headed back to the den.

* * *

"Is that your man out there?" Denise asked.

Krug tried to look through the darkness and the rain, after the blinding headlights from the car that pulled up. "Yep, that's Jason allright."

"Good, right about now I think I've had all the surprises for one night I can take," Denise said.

Krug turned around and saw Connor coming back into the room. "Mr. Nash—"

Denise turned around, "Long minute. How's Richie?"

"Asleep, how are things going out here?" Connor asked.

"Jason just pulled up," Krug answered.

"I'm going to take Richie upstairs now," Denise said.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, he just got to sleep," Connor told her.

"Trust me, he's not going to be able to rest staying on the same floor with the assassin SWAT team. If you can keep a lookout on things down here, and let me know when Jeremy gets back, I'll keep an eye on Richie."

"Sure, Miss Kramer, sure," Krug replied.

"When Jason comes in, have him watch the back door," Denise said, "I'm beginning to think that Mason's more strategic than we're giving him credit for."

Denise headed into the living room and found Richie asleep on the couch. She almost hated to wake him, but she knew once he awoke again, (and there was no telling when that would be), he'd rest easier away from everybody. She went over to the couch and gently tapped Richie on the shoulder to wake him up, he groaned and opened his eyes and before he could ask what was going on, Denise pulled him to his feet and took him over to the back stairs and up to the second floor.

"What's going on, Denise? Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"Ordinarily under the circumstances, I wouldn't be doing this," Denise said as she took a key out of her pocket and stuck it in the door's keyhole, "But I think you're better off up here while everyone else is downstairs keeping guard."

The door opened and Denise flipped on the light before letting Richie in. He slowly made his way into the room, it wasn't Jeremy's bedroom and it wasn't his guest bedroom, in fact, Richie wasn't sure he'd ever seen this room, and already he could tell he didn't like it.

"Where—where are we?" he asked.

"My bedroom," Denise replied.

That surprised Richie, for one thing, she didn't use her bed since she slept on the couch every night, and another was that she'd never even mentioned it to him.

Looking around at the room, he wondered why she didn't, it was certainly not like any room he'd ever seen. The walls were painted black, blood red candles in gold plated candelabras were spread all over the room, the brass bed in the middle of the room was made with black sheets, and the bed was easily big enough for three people, or more if they were creative. Beside the bed was a nightstand with a bucket and a bottle in it, champagne he guessed, and looking over on the shelves he saw a few skulls, a few empty beer cans and countless full cans, books by Poe and Stephen King, Anne Rice and Mary Rinehart, all tales of horror and suspense and murder. Also on one shelf was a large glass case filled with handguns, all different models, and plenty of ammunition beside the case. Richie also noticed alongside the gun case, was another case, this one had Ginzu knives, butcher knives, meat cleavers, machetes and small hatchets. Suddenly, Richie felt physically sick and felt the desire to get out of the room immediately, but when he turned around, he ran into Denise, who showed no sign of moving from the door.

Richie tried to cover how nervous he was—he laughed and said, "N-nice room you got here."

Denise grinned and pointed over to the gun case. "Like 'em?"

"Uh—" Richie looked back and tried to think, "Y-yeah, I guess—how—how'd you get them?"

"Collected them from all the places I've lived," Denise said.

By collected of course, Richie knew she meant she stole them.

"Of course, that's not enough—the rest came from gun shows."

"Oh—" Richie wasn't sure he wanted to know how she managed to get those, being 2 years out of the legal age limit.

"So you see, Richie—if Mason and his flunky try anything, we have them out numbered, and outgunned."

Richie looked over to where she kept the skulls. "Wha—what about those? Wh—where'd they come from?"

"That's nothing," Denise said, "That's from when we were living with a guy who taught medicine, he claimed he knew the entire human body, inside and out, and he had a skeleton in his bedroom, and one in his office, one in his den, and one at the medical school where he worked. So Jeremy and I thought, what would he do if the skeleton's kept coming up short a head? Well, there was very little fuss made, no questions asked, they just kept replacing the skeletons, where they got them from we don't know, but when we moved we took near two dozen of those things with us."

Denise knew that Richie wasn't sure about spending the night in her room, and she probably wouldn't have thought of it, but she knew she couldn't take him to Jeremy's room, and his own bedroom hadn't seen any use since the murder started. The master bedroom was always a possibility, but that was right at the front of the house, with a good view of Mason's house. Besides, her bedroom was a good choice for a "war room" if need be. That bridge would be crossed when they got there, for the time being she saw that Richie was finding it exhausting to even keep his eyes open, so she pushed him back towards the bed until the heels of his shoes found the legs of the bed and he fell backwards.

Almost immediately, he sprang up from the bed and tried to get off, but Denise pinned him back down. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"The bed's cold," Richie weakly responded.

"That's because the sheets are silk and they haven't been used for two months," Denise told him, "Give it a minute."

Richie looked at her like he didn't believe her. "Two months? You mean you haven't slept in this thing for two months?"

"I haven't slept in it since a week after we moved here, that was almost seven months ago," Denise said.

Richie was sure he'd heard wrong. "Why?"

Denise turned away for a minute before meeting Richie's eyes with hers and replied, "If you don't know by now, then you got the better break in foster care."

And suddenly, Richie was sorry he'd even asked. He turned away from Denise and shut his eyes tightly, not even wanting to think about what she'd gone through. But Denise quickly brushed it off. She got up to the head of the bed next to Richie and propped herself up on one elbow and reached over and gently stroked Richie's head with her free hand.

"Don't get yourself upset again, you won't be any good if you make yourself sick," Denise told him.

"I know," came the muffled reply from the pillows.

Denise lowered her hand and ran it down to stroke Richie's back, this was getting to be too much like old times. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested.

"I can't," Richie replied.

"Why not?" Denise asked.

Richie turned over and looked at Denise. "Denise, I can't go back to sleep—I'm afraid to—I can't stand the thought of seeing that women get killed again."

Understandable. "Fine then, you don't have to sleep, but at least rest."

"How?"

"How?" she repeated.

"How can I be expected to rest when there's a murderer living right up and across the street?" Richie asked.

Denise patted Richie's back, "Don't worry about it. We'll take care of him for you—the important thing right now is that you don't throw yourself into a mental breakdown."

"I know, but after what I saw—"

"Richie—we can't help that woman, but we can see to it that Mason doesn't get away with it and that's all we can do," Denise told him.

"But Denise," Richie almost shouted in despair, "What are we going to do? We've looked that house over twice, we can't find her body, it's like she was never there."

"I know, I know," Denise rubbed hard against Richie's back as she tried not to give into the temptation to dig her nails into him for being annoying. "She has to be somewhere, Richie, maybe—maybe he had his associate take her body somewhere, if that's the case we might not find her. But she's out there somewhere, her corpse didn't just disappear into thin air."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Richie groaned.

"Fine, we won't."

Richie laid his head on top of his folded arms and quietly cried himself to sleep, Denise didn't intervene, he needed to get it out and he needed the rest. Once he'd fallen asleep, Denise silently swore that Mason would soon die a slow and painful death for everything he'd done to Richie.

Of course, Mason wasn't the only problem here, Richie wasn't used to seeing people murdered, but he also wasn't usually in this bad of shape. No, the problem was that when she last saw Richie, he didn't have much of a conscience to him, now he had it in full again. That she decided, was the diabolical doing of Duncan MacLeod, the warden. Denise swore to undue the damage that the two men had done to Richie, if it was the last thing she did.


	11. Chapter 11

Denise awoke with a start, not realizing that she'd actually fallen asleep until she felt something—more rather, someone. Looking up, she saw that Richie had rolled up against her in his sleep. She was thankful that that was all it had been and that Richie was still asleep – but how long had he been asleep? Had it been at 9 or 9:30 that he'd finally gone to sleep? And how long after that had she gone to sleep? It was 10:15 so either way, neither of them had been sleeping long, but the good news was that Richie was still asleep, so hopefully he would through the night.

Denise laughed to herself, yeah right – Richie would be up, it was just a matter of time.

It wasn't that she minded being used for a pillow, so long as Richie was quiet and resting, she could stay like that all night. In foster care, her well being sometimes depended on staying right where she was, having someone else use her as a pillow afterwards.

"Denise?"

_Ah shit, and it had been going so well,_ Denise thought to herself.

Denise watched Richie as he woke up and rolled over beside her and looked at her.

"Yes, Richie? What is it?"

"I'm thirsty."

Denise pointed over to the nightstand at the bucket with a bottle in it. "Knock yourself out."

That had gone better than she thought, and, the rest of the night would go fine just so long as Richie didn't ask.

As soon as Richie got through taking a swig from the bottle, he asked, "Is Jeremy back yet?"

_Too late, he'd asked._

Denise shook her head. "No, not yet." _God, I hope the bourbon goes to work fast._

"Do you still think he's allright?" Richie asked, waiting to hear her admit she was wrong.

"Richie, you know as well as I do that if you manage to come out of foster care alive after 12 years, then you deserve a fucking medal—we all came out of it fine, some more than others, believe me, he'll be allright."

"This is not the same thing," Richie said, "We're not dealing with our foster parents here, we're dealing with a cold blooded murderer."

"How do you know it's not the same thing?" Denise asked, "You think our foster folks didn't have the capacity to kill? They would've killed us except they wanted the money, then we got moved again. Besides, then, we were living in the same house with those people—this guy's up and across the street, that gives us an advantage over him. Besides that, we've got Connor, Jason, and Krug all downstairs, and when Jeremy gets back that'll better our chances still, so please, don't worry about it."

Some days Denise wished she'd just cut out her tongue, and when she saw the pained look on Richie's face, she once again considered it. "I'm sorry, Richie. I know, you're tired, I'm tired, we're all tired, we're all under a lot of stress here, we all want it to be over, and it will be soon enough."

"I wish I could believe that," Richie said.

"Are you through with the bottle yet?" Denise asked.

"Yeah."

"Then go back to sleep, I'll let you know when Jeremy comes home," Denise said as she took the bourbon from him.

"I'll try."

Denise got off the bed and pulled the sheets back.

"What's that for?" Richie asked.

"You know damn well what for, get into bed," Denise commanded.

Richie was uneasy with the way she was talking, but knew better than to protest with her. So he moved up to the head of the bed and laid down. Denise grabbed his shoes and jerked them off his feet and then she brought the sheets back up to his chest. "I'm going to tuck you in nice and tight so you can't move the next time you wake up. I have half a mind to gag you too so you'll shut up."

She must've seen the terrified look in Richie's eyes because she started laughing, and then Richie didn't know what to think.

"Relax, Richie," she said, "I'm just messing with you, now go on to sleep."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I don't ordinarily sleep in a bed, you know that," she said, "Now go onto sleep before you drive us all crazy."

Richie turned on his side and closed his eyes, but Denise knew that he wouldn't be asleep for too long.

* * *

"Anything?" Connor asked.

"The bastard hasn't come out of the house yet," Krug replied.

"How long has it been?" Connor asked.

"I reckon about an hour now," Krug said.

"What do you think they're doing in there?" Jason asked as he came into the front room.

"What're you doing here?" Connor asked, "Denise said for you to watch the back."

"I did, I got tired of watching it, so I thought I'd see if anything interesting was happening in the front," Jason replied.

"Well now you know there's nothing going on out front, so get back at that kitchen door," Krug demanded.

"Exactly how long have you two been in the business together?" Connor asked.

"Long enough," Jason replied.

"Too long," Krug corrected.

"I'm sorry I asked."

"I have a question, Mister Nash," Jason said, "When we get this guy, Mason, what're we gonna do with him?"

"First we get him to tell us where the body is," Connor said, "Then once we find it, we kill him."

"Hmmm, you don't have too much faith in the justice system, do you?" Jason asked.

"Do you?" Connor asked.

"If I did, would I be in this business?"

"How do you want him?" Krug asked.

"What?" Connor asked.

"When we kill him, how do you want it done?"

"You'll have to ask Denise – she can tell you that better than I can."

"Maybe I oughtta go up and see Miss Kramar and make sure they're allright," Jason suggested.

Krug grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him forward. "No sir, you're going BACK into the kitchen and watching the back door so nobody tries to sneak attack the people here."

"But—"

"Get going!" Krug pushed Jason into the kitchen and closed the door.

"Are you two brothers?" Connor asked.

"Mister Nash, I've been very unfortunate in my life," Krug explained to him, "But I've never been _that_ unfortunate."

Connor laughed, considering the situation they were in, there wasn't really anything funny about the whole thing, but he felt he had to either laugh, or he'd go completely insane. Everything had happened so fast, and it was taking a toll on everyone, Richie especially, and Connor knew if nothing else, he had to stay sane for the boy's sake.

* * *

Richie had only been half awake for a while, but he was waiting for the other half to sink in to sleep. However, that became impossible when he felt himself surrounded by hot water. That woke him fully and he jerked up and found himself in a bathtub, with Denise kneeling beside it so she could reach him.

"Denise!" Richie nearly jumped out of the tub in surprise, "What're you doing?"

She grinned and answered in a most nonchalant tone, "I'm giving you a bath."

"A bath?" Richie repeated.

"Yes."

"A bath?" Richie couldn't believe his ears.

"Yeah."

"Why?" Richie asked.

"Two reasons," Denise counted them off on her fingers, "One, you haven't been sleeping well at all, and I figured the quickest thing to make Jeremy nod off is a hot bath – or shower, so I figured maybe the same would work for you."

"And two?"

"Two, because you have the oiliest hair andskin I've ever felt and I don't want you slipping off the bed," she replied.

Richie rolled his eyes and sighed, but did little else to discourage it. Sure he was embarrassed, but he was also too tired to put up a good fight, but it didn't matter, Denise still knew these things, to her it was like bat radar.

"Well now don't tell me you're embarrassed," she said as she rolled up her sleeves, "After all, how many times have we done this before?"

Richie could feel his skin turning colors, and it wasn't because of the hot water. "It's different, Denise."

"Why?" she asked, "Just because we're older? Because you've grown up and filled out? Believe me, Richie, you're not much different now at 17 than you were at 9."

"Thanks a lot," Richie replied as bitter as he could be, which by this time wasn't very much.

Denise grinned as she continued, "Humor me, Richie, how many more times am I going to have to do this?"

"You don't have to do this at all," Richie told her.

"I know, but I like it," she replied as she swung a large cup through the water.

That surprised Richie, "You do?" Ordinarily no one who took care of him got any pleasure out of it until the check came, and Denise had to do it all for nothing.

"Sure – it makes me feel useful, besides, it'll give me something to do and keep me out of trouble for the time being. Tip your head back."

Richie closed his eyes and did as he was told, he'd never gotten used to this part. The first time Denise had done it he accused her of trying to drown him.

"Are you sure you don't mind this?" Richie asked. He was beginning to feel more and more awkward about the whole thing.

"Not at all," Denise replied, "It kind of makes me feel like a mother figure and – it's nice to be able to do it even though I'm never going to be a mother."

"Are you sure?" Richie asked.

Right after he'd asked, he felt two cold hands rubbing the top of his hair and fingers digging into the scalp. That was another part he wasn't too fond of.

"Positive, even if I did sleep with someone, I can't be a mother, nor Jeremy a father, it's just the way we are," Denise told him.

"Sorry to hear that," Richie replied.

"Don't be," she replied. She didn't have the heart to add, "Because you're in the same boat as us".

Once she finished rinsing out his hair, she started on his back, and Richie flinched.

"Now what?" Denise asked.

Richie caught himself before he said anything he'd regret, so instead he said, "Nothing," and leaned back for her to continue.

"What're you worried about, that I'm looking for a good place to stick a knife?" Denise asked.

"No."

Denise knew there was something bothering Richie still, and while she had a pretty good idea of just what, she wasn't going to say anything about it. "You do trust me, don't you?" she asked.

Richie nodded, trusting Denise was easy, it was trusting himself that could be a problem. Denise had what he considered a rather unusual way of bathing someone. She wouldn't bother with a sponge or a bath brush or a washcloth like anyone else, no, she preferred to work with just a bar of soap and her own two hands. It was different when you were little and didn't know any better, but now she was 19 and he was 17 and he had hormones that could set themselves off in a second if – Richie felt her hands reaching further down his body and took that as a sign to move. In doing so, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What's the matter?" Denise asked.

"Denise, that's it, that is it! Enough!" Richie exploded, "I'm 17 years old, and fully capable of bathing myself."

Richie tried to move out of her reach but in doing so he slipped and cracked his back against the tub. Denise laughed a bit but otherwise didn't pay any attention to it.

"Did you hit your head?" she asked.

Richie shook his head, "My back."

Denise smiled and shook her head, and she leaned over to grab Richie and pull him closer to her reach again. "Now are you going to cooperate this time or not?"

Richie sighed and responded, "Allright—I guess I can live with it."

"Give me a break, Richie, people in hospitals do this sort of stuff all the time, there's nothing embarrassing about it," Denise told him.

"Those are people who can't do it themselves," he argued.

"Yeah well you can't even turn around in a bathtub without hurting yourself, I don't want to see how you'd bathe yourself. Now just relax and hold still."

"Yes, Mom," Richie grumbled. He knew if he didn't do too much for the remainder of the bath, it would all beover soon.

* * *

"Nothing yet?" Connor asked.

"Nothing," Krug confirmed, "No Mason, no flunkies, no Jeremy, no nothing."

"You think they got him?" Jason asked as he came out of the kitchen again.

"Now what're you doing here?" Krug asked.

"I'm on a break," Jason responded, "I've been watching that back door for over an hour now and nothing has happened."

"It'll be just our luck," Connor said, "The minute you leave we find ourselves ambushed."

"Well if those bastards are going to do something, they ought to do it soon before we go into tomorrow," Jason said.

"Mister Nash," Krug said.

"What?"

"When's your brother coming back?" he asked.

"My brother?" Connor repeated.

"Miss Kramar told me that the kid was staying with your brother, you are his uncle, right?"

"Yes." At least he was the closest thing to an uncle.

"Allright, so this guy he's staying with is your brother, right?"

"You could say that."

"So when's he coming back?" Krug asked.

Connor shook his head, "I wish I knew. I wish he were there now, I could take Richie back and at least get him out of the line of fire."

"Don't you have a pass key?" Jason asked him.

Connor laughed, "The only pass key I have to his place is a brick."

"A brick?"

"For the window."

"I'm sorry I asked," Jason said, "Maybe we could open the place, we have had some experience with picking locks."

"It's a bad idea," Connor replied, "For one thing, Duncan doesn't know that I'm in town, and he also doesn't know that I know Richie's friends Denise and Jeremy. Now, they're supposed to stay here until Duncan and Tessa get back, how would it look if they got back and found the six of us there? You two especially, how would we explain the two of you?"

Jason thought for a minute, "Maybe we could pass ourselves off as relatives."

"Duncan questions everything and everyone, he'll want to know all about you and why you haven't been mentioned before, then what?" Connor asked.

"We could come up with something," Jason thought.

"Well why would you be over there? Why not stay here?" Connor asked.

"You know why, there's a murderer across the street," Jason told him.

"I'm aware of that," Connor said, "But the problem with Duncan is that he can be very impatient when something's wrong, and it would take plenty of time to explain everything, and take my word for it he would lose his patience long before we could even come up with a convincing story."

"Why don't we just go over there now and get it over with?" Krug asked.

"What?" Connor asked.

"They haven't come back out in quite a while, Mister Nash. Odds are there are two, maybe three of them over there, there's four of us here who can fight, why don't we go on over and take them out?"

"Because every damn thing that could happen has happened all at the same time," Connor said, "There is a deputy dead, their uncle missing, now Jeremy's gone off and we can't find him—"

"But what if," Jason cut him off, "Mason's got them over there? What if they're hanging on to life by a thread and we're over here doing nothing? What if they don't come back?"

"You came back," Krug pointed out, "Not that we wanted you much as it is, but we kept you here, didn't we?"

"That's different," Jason said, "I was out on a call, those people are out there God knows where and they could be in any sort of condition— I don't—"

The entire time that they'd been talking, Krug never once turned away from the window, and finally he saw good reason to look. "Shut up."

"What?" Jason asked.

"I said shut up, somebody with no lights on just pulled up outside," Krug said.

At the very mention of that, Connor and Jason dashed over to the window to see just what, and whom, it was that Krug was seeing. It was too dark to make out who it was, but the person got out of the car and was coming up the sidewalk.

"Now what?" Jason asked.

"If they knock, we see who it is," Krug said, "If they bash the door open—"

"Then we'll have a good idea it's not the welcoming committee," Connor added.

Jason turned around and gave Connor an unreadable look, but it most likely said 'annoyed'. They heard someone knocking on the door, and Krug went to answer. He turned on the porch light and swung the door open and saw a man he'd never seen before. He looked down at him, "Can I help you?"

The man almost jumped back when he saw him. "Are Denise and Jeremy here?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm their uncle."

"David Kramar," Krug said.

"Yes."

"ID?"

He showed it to him, after looking it over twice, Krug decided if the man wasn't legit, they outnumbered him 3 to 1. So he held the door open and stepped back.

"I didn't know Denise hired a butler," he said.

"She didn't," Krug told him.

David found two other men in the living room and neither one looked too friendly. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"Not at all," Connor replied. He reached for David's hand and shook it, "Hi, I'm Richie's uncle, Russell Nash on vacation from New York, and these are my two boys, this is Jason, and you've already met Krug."

"Krug?" David repeated.

"It's a family name," Connor told him, "And you are?"

"I'm David Kramar, Denise and Jeremy's uncle."

"Oh, the flatfoot," Connor said.

That surprised David, and they could tell he was wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

"Denise speaks very highly of you," Connor said.

"Oh really? Have you been here long?" David asked.

"Not long enough," Connor muttered under his breath.

Jason got up behind David and tapped him on the shoulder. "Is the boy with you?"

"The boy?" David didn't know what he meant.

"Jeremy, have you seen Jeremy?" Connor asked.

"He isn't here?" David asked.

"No, he went out to look for you when they couldn't get anyone at the station," Connor explained.

"How long ago was that?" David asked.

"I'd say a couple of hours," Krug responded.

"At least," Jason threw in.

"Where'd he go?" David asked.

"We don't know," Connor replied, "However our first guess would be down to the station to see if anybody's still alive down there. No one answered and they called for a good long while."

"Well is—is Denise here?" David asked.

"Yes, she's upstairs with my nephew," Connor said, "All the excitement has taken him ill I'm afraid."

"Maybe I better go check on—" David suggested.

"No!" the three men simultaneously responded, and David suddenly got the impression that they were hiding something.

"She doesn't want visitors up there," Krug insisted, "For fear that it would be overwhelming to—to Richie."

"I'll tell her you've arrived, Mister Kramar, she will be glad to hear of that," Jason said.

Jason went through the kitchen and took to the back stairs, leaving the three men in the living room to wait.

"I'll go back to the window," Krug said to Connor, "You stay here and keep Colombo entertained—Dad."

It was fortunate David wasn't watching because Krug couldn't keep a straight face, it was a wonder his voice didn't crack as he spoke. Once Krug left, he and Connor made themselves comfortable on the couch.

"So I assume Richie's told you what's happened?" David asked.

"Yes he did."

"And about Mason?"

"Yes he did."

"And the woman?"

"Yes he did."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes I do."

"Even though the story seems to be full of holes."

"Yes it does."

"And he didn't seem to be—" David wasn't sure how to put it, "On full alert."

"No he wasn't."

"And you still believe him?"

"Yes I do."

"Why?"

"Because," Connor replied, "That boy is my family, and I do anything for family. They come first."

"But how do you know that he's telling the truth?" David asked.

Connor looked at him. "You're a cop, right?"

"Yes?"

"Then you must have some idea when you go out on calls, you see victims, people who have been robbed blind, almost killed in an accident or premeditated homicide, raped and knowing full well that it can happen again, people who have been sadistically beaten, had their very lives and those of their families threatened. It's at that time that you see what real fear is when you look in someone's eyes, you might see it every day in common strangers, but when I got here tonight, I saw it in Richie. Unmistakable terror, I could read it in his eyes, there was no getting past it, I know Richie and he likes to act like nothing bothers him. Even when he's scared stiff he tries to act like he's allright, and sometimes he can do a convincing job. But tonight I saw clear as day that whatever has gone on here, it has given Richie the worst scare in his entire life."

David wasn't sure how to respond to that or even if he should, but he did. "I don't want you to think I don't believe him, but are you sure it's not possible that the boy is making all this up?"

"The boy—" Connor quickly caught and amended himself, "Richie may not be the brightest kid in the world, and he may have a habit of trouble following him wherever he goes. But you mark my words, Kramar, what I saw tonight was no act, what I saw in him tonight was pure and concentrated horror, he is fearing for his life and with good reason." He paused for a minute before looked Kramar dead in the eyes, "Do you know him?"

"Mason?" David asked. Connor nodded, "Not exactly, why?"

"Ever since I got here, all I've been hearing is that nobody would believe Richie since Mason is such a well known man, and so nice and trusting," Connor said it with a sarcasm that made even him feel nauseated, "I don't care what he is, if he's a pillar to the community or if he's running for political office, or whatever the hell it is he does that makes him so great. He's killed a woman in cold blood and he's done something with the body, and he's had these goons over at his house all night, most likely the same ones who tore up the house this morning while everyone was out. He's already committed one murder and he has to pay for it, and I know for a fact that he's onto Richie by now, and he's trying to do away with him next."

David seemed unconvinced, "He told you this for a fact?"

"Nobody has to tell me a damn thing, I know!" Connor exploded, "I know that he wants to kill him because he knows, and I have a feeling you'll like the way I see this going."

"What do you think, Mister Nash?" David asked.

"I've had plenty of time to think about this since I found out what had happened, and I also know that this guy could very well have killed Richie by now, but he hasn't. I think that Mason knows that right now Richie has had a scare so horrible it's taking a toll on him, and I think that the reason he hasn't tried to flat out kill him yet, is so he can scare Richie to death, slowly but surely, drive him to the brink of madness, and then get him so worked up that his heart will just stop and take him with it. Yes, Mason has no intention of being proved a murderer, so he's already hidden the body, and now he wants to make what could become Richie's demise, to look like natural causes."

David was starting to get the impression that maybe Russell knew what he was talking about. "You really think that's his plan?"

"It sure as hell is as good a guess as anything," Connor replied, "You say that you believe Richie right?"

David nodded, "I about have two, I have a niece and a nephew who are willing to back him and his story up, and they're not the kind to be taken for fools, and they wouldn't lie even to protect a friend."

Connor wanted to laugh at that, he obviously didn't know them very well, but well enough for now—they would lie to protect Richie, but he was right, they weren't fools. "Then by God, do something! If I have to go to jail myself I will, but if you don't do something about that man soon—before he tries again to kill Richie—I swear to God I'll kill that man myself."


	12. Chapter 12

Denise had finished rinsing Richie off when they heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Miss Kramer," Jason called in response, "You're uncle's here – at least I think he is, come to think of it I never met him."

Denise wasn't sure if she'd be stepping into a trap or not, so she told Richie to stay where he was and not to move until she came back. All the same, she left the bathroom door open a crack and ordered Jason to watch Richie and if he started to fall asleep in the tub to get him out and take him back into her bedroom, she showed him which one.

"I better warn you, Miss," Jason said, "We told your uncle some things you're going to have to go along with not to blow our cover."

"Like what?" she asked.

"We told your uncle that Connor was visiting Richie."

"That's not so bad."

"And that we're Connor's sons."

"Now that's a bad idea," Denise said, "But what's done is done, what else?"

* * *

"So why the hell have you been gone for so long?" Connor asked David, "Denise and Jeremy have been in arms over it for hours, they thought you were dead."

"I very well could've been," David replied.

They stopped when they heard Denise coming down the stairs, yes this man was her uncle, and now it was a new game with Jason and Krug drawn into it, so she had her cards and knew how to play them.

"Uncle David," she said, "What's going on? Why haven't you returned sooner? Where were you? Do you realize what's been going on here?"

"Well your friend Mr. Nash informed me of a bit of it – how's Richie?"

"The poor dear," Denise said, "All this excitement's really getting to him, he can't eat, he has a bad stomach, he's shaking like he should be freezing, he's gone into a cold sweat and he's white as a ghost. I put him down to sleep, but I don't think it'll do him much good, he's terrified that Mason's going to get over here, or have one of his flunkies do it, and kill him in his sleep."

David knew that she was never nice as her true self, but he would never anticipate her being so sinister, so cruel, yes she played her cards right to get him feeling guilt for leaving them alone for so long, and not being around when Richie needed the help.

"And now Jeremy's gone," David added, "Went out looking for me."

"And he's been gone a long time as well," Denise said.

"If that son of a bitch so much as lays a hand on him I swear I'll---"

"Now you know how I feel about Richie," Connor told him, "So are you going to do something about him or not?"

"Uncle David where in the hell have you been?" Denise asked.

"Trying to stay alive, that imposter from the other night led me on a wild goose chase through this town and the next, I almost had the bastard too, but he slipped away."

"And now he's probably right back over there," Krug suggested.

"Uncle David," Denise said, "I highly suggest you go to the station and find out why nobody's answering. Even on their busiest nights, that is not normal."

"I know, I probably should---but what about here?" David asked, "Are you going to be allright?"

"Don't worry, we'll be fine," Connor said, "If anybody breaks in over here, I'll just tell them about the problems I'm having with my feet, that'll get rid of them. Now go on and get!"

David left, and after they closed the door behind him, they had a good laugh at his expense.

"Now I know why you think so little of the police," Connor said, "If they're all like him, then the entire police force is all a bunch of simpletons."

"Yeah," Denise replied, then added soberly, "And that bunch of simpletons has to be dead or there would've been somebody answering at the damn station."

"Where's Richie?" Connor asked.

"Well he's—uh oh."

"What?" Connor asked.

"I left him in the tub—" Denise jumped to the stairs and went charging up.

Krug looked at his watch. "Mister Nash?"

"What?"

"Isn't midnight a little late for a bath?"

"With those two, I never know what to expect."

"You're fond of them, ain't you?" Krug asked.

"Richie, definitely, he's family."

"And Miss Kramer?"

Connor laughed and shook his head. "I don't know, she means well, but---"

"Well I was just asking—seems to me that you're soft on them," Krug said, "But that's just me talking, nostalgic for even the illusion of a family. You see, Mister Nash, it was because I lost my family that I went into this business, and now because of this business I couldn't start my own family. I know it's not a good idea for people like me to get involved too much with their clients, but—somehow I feel like those kids are as close to a family as I'll have for a while, and I'd go out of my way to keep them alive and away from _that_."

And by _that_, Connor knew Krug meant Mason.

"Then it sounds like we have more in common than we thought," Connor said.

* * *

Denise found Jason where she'd left him, she sent him back downstairs to watch the back door, and she headed in to see how Richie was doing. He was about asleep when she got in, she jerked him upright and it woke him up.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I'm pulling the plug on you, you little bath toy," Denise said, "Come on, get up."

"What's happened? Where is everybody? Denise, what's going on?" Richie asked.

"Hush…Uncle David is going to see what's happened at the police station, and your uncle and the two guys I hired are watching the downstairs."

"And Jeremy?"

"Still nothing…but don't worry…he was once gone for 11 days, nobody could find him anywhere…he was happy as a clam when we finally found him."

Denise pulled Richie up and out of the tub and got him wrapped up in towels and dried him and took him back to her room, she was going to get him dressed when he stopped her.

"_That's_ one thing I can still do by myself," he insisted.

"Suit yourself."

"That's what I'm doing."

Once Richie finished dressing, Denise laid him down on the bed. There wasn't really much need, he was so tired he just fell back on the bed and collapsed. Denise sat beside him and smoothed back his bangs and stroked his forehead. She wanted this whole ordeal to be over, all for his sake, it didn't matter to her, but Richie didn't deserve what he was being put through. It had gotten to the point that he was about sick, he couldn't eat, he slept very little and when he did it was never well. Just looking at Richie was becoming painful, even just looking at him, you could see the agony he was going through. The whole ordeal was making him sick and because of that, he was making himself weaker and weaker. Then, Denise got an idea, she quietly slipped out of the bed and out of the room and she called down the back stairs for Jason to come up. He did and she told him to stay right outside the door and keep an eye on Richie, she advised him to wake Richie up if he seemed to be having a nightmare, and not to let Richie leave the room.

So Jason stayed and he watched, Denise was downstairs about half an hour and in that time Richie never tossed or turned or woke up. In fact he was starting to wonder if he was sick when he heard Denise come up the back stairs, and in her hands she had a large silver tray with a large round silver lid on top. She sent him back down to watch the back door while she was alone with Richie, she took the tray over to the bed, and she smoothed back the damp bangs on Richie's forehead, and that got his attention.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty, I've got something for you," she said.

Richie rubbed his eyes and sat up against the headboard. "What is it?"

She picked up the tray and laid it on top of his lap. "To make up for the dinner you didn't eat."

Richie lifted the lid and liked what he saw, a large hamburger with a side of curly fries and a large pickle. Only problem was he wasn't sure he could eat it, and if he could, the real question would be in keeping it down.

"Well—" he tried to think of something to say, "—It sure looks good."

"It ought to be," Denise replied, "I poked and pressed that thing until it spit clear."

Well that should've killed any appetite he had. However if there was one thing he knew, it was not healthy to make the cook unhappy, so he ate.

"How is it?" she asked after a while.

"Good—Denise."

"What?"

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"Forget it," Denise said, "It's done. After you eat, I want you to go right back to bed—this is going to be a long night, and I don't want you worrying because I won't let anyone hurt you. Also, I'll be sure and let you know as soon as Jeremy gets back, allright?"

Richie nodded. She was right, this was going to be a long night, and he knew that, he just wanted it to be over. He'd finished most of the meal and pushed the tray away and laid back down. Denise took the tray and brought the covers up on Richie. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah—thanks."

She kissed his temple and replied, "Anytime, Richie – anytime."

* * *

"They still haven't moved?" Connor asked.

"Not yet, I don't get what they could be doing over there for so long," Krug said, "Unless they're--" he laughed.

"I doubt it, if that were the case he wouldn't need the hooker," Connor replied.

"He would if he goes both ways," Krug told him.

Connor shook his head, "Now that's not an image I need to see."

"I still think it'd save a lot of time and trouble if we just went over there and ripped them to hell," Krug thought.

Connor didn't say anything in response, he'd already said his part and there wasn't anymore to say about it.

"I just want this to be over for Richie," Connor said, "I can't imagine what all he's gone through since the whole thing started."

Krug nodded and looked back out the window and he got an idea. "You might have to take over watching this window," he said, "I'm going to go take a look around the yard and make sure nobody's snooping around out there. We can only cover so much from these windows."

"What if they see you?" Connor asked.

"Let them, I'm a guest here, I can walk around on the property if I want."

Connor knew that there was something Krug wasn't telling him. "What do you see out there?"

"Nothing yet, and I'm for keeping it that way."

"And if you do find someone, what then?" Connor asked.

"Then we won't have to worry about them anymore," Krug said, "It's as simple as that."

"Is it?" Connor asked.

"It is for me, Mister Nash, it's my job. My conscience died when my parents did—you say the word, I'll rub out each and every one of those monkeys over there. And you can be sure, if you don't give me the word, then Miss Kramer will."

With that, Krug slipped around to the back and left through the kitchen door, and Connor replaced him at the front window. He saw nothing, heard nothing, everything was pitch dark and the rain only made it harder to see through, how Krug could ever hope to find someone to murder out there, it was beyond him. The sound of footsteps coming down the front stairs took him by surprised, but he was relieved to see it was only Denise.

"Connor, I need your help," she said.

"Is Richie bothering you?"

"No," Denise replied, she got to the bottom of the stairs and looked around, "Where's Krug?"

"Out searching the grounds, making sure nobody's trying to surprise us," Connor said, "What's going on?"

"Well get away from the window, come into the living room, there's something I have to show you."

Connor took one final glance out the window, saw nothing and followed her into the living room.

"What is it?" he asked.

She held up in the light a small metal comb in her hand with sharp teeth, "What do you make of this?"

Connor took the comb from her and looked it over. "Somebody's got lice?"

"No."

"Dandruff?"

"Connor!"

"I don't get what you want my help with here, Denise."

"I found this comb in Mason's house in the living room, that's the front room where he killed the lady."

"So?"

"So, first off where do you find metal combs, they're not well known or used, I know that—and second, why sharpen the teeth? A comb's for going through the hair, not tearing up the scalp."

"Yeah, so?" Connor asked.

"Do you think it's possible this is what he tore her throat open with?"

"Well it's entirely possible but—wait a minute, wait a minute—where do I come in to this?"

"I need to know if the teeth are sharp enough to cut through skin," she said, "Enough to do some real damage."

"So?" Connor asked.

"So," Denise replied as she grabbed Connor's wrist, "You'll heal, fast."

She had a point, and if it would help prove Richie's story—he rolled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm and said, "Go ahead."

He was expecting her to just run it over hard enough to prove it could cut, but she ripped into his arm and he forced his teeth and mouth shut so he wouldn't scream and draw Jason into the room. Blood pooled all over his arm from the cut that had been made nearly four inches long, in a matter of seconds the blood returned inside of his arm and what looked like small bolts of blue lightning distracted the focus on the wound closing up. Good as new.

"So it's sharp enough to cut through skin—definitely sharp enough to cut someone's throat," Denise said, "A neck would probably be about as soft to cut into as your arm."

"And let's face it, something that sharp this guy is not scratching dandruff with," Connor added, "So we may have the murder weapon here."

"May? What do you mean may?" Denise asked.

"Denise, how well did he clean up the mess in the house? The blood?"

"The floor was spotless, the bathtub---"

"Bathtub?"

"Yeah, a bathtub in the house, the entire bottom of it was covered in dry blood, water's not running so he couldn't wash it down."

"Allright, so clearly there was a lot of blood, don't you think there might be some on the comb too? Or did he clean that as well?"

"There's no blood on it this time. Besides, Connor, I got cut on plenty of sharp things, no blood on them because the people that did it to me did it fast, just cut and go, don't wait for the blood. That's what Mason did too, did it so fast Richie couldn't even tell what was going on. Granted, depending on where you're cutting and how deep, blood can pool up instantly, but if you know what you're doing, you can do it without getting any damning evidence on the weapon."

"Mister Nash," Jason came into the living room, "What's going on in here? Something wrong?"

"No, we were just discussing the case here," Connor said.

"It's a mess," Denise said, "If he were alive today, Hitchcock wouldn't use a case like this, he wouldn't even touch a case like this with a ten foot pole."

"That's what you say, I'll tell you what I know," Connor said, "Scotland Yard couldn't catch Jack the Ripper and they wouldn't get this guy either."

"And the Pinkertons wouldn't get him either," Jason said, "Law ain't gonna do anything with killers, especially a real uppity one like him, that's why there's careers for people like Krug and myself. We come in where the law backs off."

Denise put the comb down on the table, "I better get back before Richie wakes up. I have a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of that tonight."

After she had gone, Jason looked at the comb and thought it a rather unusual one. "What's that?" he asked.

Connor picked it up and looked it over closely again, "I do believe it's the murder weapon."

* * *

"Denise."

She saw that one coming. "Yes, Richie, what is it?"

He turned over and sat up, "I can't sleep."

"Yeah, it's hot as hell in this house," she said, "I'll crack open the window, as much rain as we're getting that should cool things down in a hurry."

"That's not all of it," Richie said.

Denise lifted the bottom windowpane six inches and let the cool air, and water, come into the room. "Then what is it?"

"I just can't sleep," he said.

"So what do you want?"

For a minute Richie looked as if he didn't have anything else to say, then he looked like he couldn't say what was on his mind. Finally he forced himself to ask, "Would you just stay with me?"

"I'm already here," she replied, "I'm not going anywhere."

Richie laid back down, his eyes open but not really looking at anything, particularly trying to avoid looking at her. "Would you just talk to me, please? The silence is what I can't take."

She exhaled. "Okay, what about?"

"Anything."

"Allright, how do you like living with your warden?"

"Why do you call him that?" Richie asked.

"Because he's just like one, he's always telling you what to do, how to do it, where to go, when to go and come back, if you don't then it's on your head. Besides, ever since you moved in with him, anytime we want you over for visit, we have to check with him first. I had better communication between friends in jail."

"He's not that bad," Richie said, "He took me in when nobody else wanted me."

"Well we want you," Denise replied, "And we would have you had we found you before he did. How is it that we live in the same town for seven months before finding each other?"

"I don't know," Richie said, "But I'm glad we finally did."

"So am I, Richie—so am I."

Richie buried his face in the pillows and Denise heard a muffled, "Oh God."

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Richie turned onto his side so he didn't have to look at her. "Mac's never going to believe this."

"What?" Denise asked.

"About Mason, he's never going to believe me, and nobody can back me up because I'm the only one who saw the murder," Richie said, he sounded like he was near crying. "What am I going to do when they get back?"

"Richie, you screwed up," Denise told him, "You let your warden know what you thought of Mason, which turns out you had good reason for. But he's going to keep that in mind, and he's going to think you made it all up just because you don't like him. However, you got us to back you up because we believe you, and that uncle of yours, he'll back you up too. Now how's he going to argue his own brother defending you?"

"But they aren't—never mind, it doesn't matter, Denise, Mac may be a hell of a lot better than the foster fathers we had, but he's just as dangerous, maybe even more so."

"He hit you?" Denise asked.

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"He hasn't, I swear to God."

"He slapped you?"

"No."

"Burnt you?"

"No."

"Cut you."

"Denise!"

"He ever try to pin you down?" Denise asked.

He knew what she was getting at by that question. "No, Denise, he hasn't done anything to me, nothing like that anyway."

"So why're you afraid of him?" Denise asked.

"Denise you don't understand, I've seen him do things, I've seen him—"

"Seen him what, kill people?" Denise asked.

Richie couldn't trust himself to speak but even that was evidence enough.

"I see," she said.

"Denise, you don't understand," Richie cried.

"Oh I understand allright, I understand perfectly," Denise said, she laughed, "That haggis has a past of his own, he just don't like airing it for people to know about. Well, that's better than what I thought we were dealing with. So these people he kills, why's he kill them?"

"Because they try to kill him," Richie answered.

"Why do they try to kill him?" Denise asked, "What'd he do to them?"

"Nothing, they just come after him."

"For what, money? Maybe some of those artifacts in his shop? Or maybe he slept with someone and got caught, eh?"

"No, they just come after him for—for no reason."

"You expect me to believe that?" Denise asked.

"I'm not lying." And to the best of his knowledge, he wasn't. Duncan had explained to him about Immortals and the Game, but it didn't make much sense to him. It just seemed to him as just that, that they were all killing each other for no reason.

"And you're afraid because what—you've seen him kill them?"

"A couple."

"What'd he do to you then?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Well—that's part of why he took me in, because I saw him kill a guy, and I didn't know what it was all about. But he told me why he did it, and why he still does it, and he took me in I guess, so I know there's nothing to worry about."

"You really believe that?" Denise asked.

"I guess, I mean, I know why he does it, I know it's him or them at the end of it all—and I know he'd never try it with me."

"How do you know that?" Denise asked.

"Because," Richie said, "He saved my life, several times actually."

"Okay, Richie, explain to me, this guy has never hurt you before, but he has killed people, but he wouldn't kill you—so why are you so afraid of him?"

"I don't know, Denise," he replied, "I just am."

Richie buried his face in the pillows and cried silently, Denise's hand found its way to his back and smoothed across up and down, back and forth.

"Don't worry, Richie, he ever does anything to you, you just come on down here and let me know. I'll take care of everything."

Richie turned back on his side and said as calmly as he could manage, "Thanks, Denise—thank you."

Denise leaned back against the headboard and held Richie in her arms and rocked gently with him and stroked his back as she waited for him to go back to sleep.

"I'll always look after you, Richie," she promised. Always.

* * *

The night passed, the rain stopped, the clock struck five in the morning. Denise had been up with Richie all night, who had slipped into a deep and undisturbed sleep about an hour ago and was still there. It had taken her a better part of that hour to get out from under him without waking him up, now she was on her knees right by the bed with her head laid on the end of the pillows, watching him as he slept. She heard footsteps coming up the back stairs but paid no mind to them, not until they stopped right outside the bedroom and she heard a familiar call.

"Well skin me alive and call me luggage, what have we here?"

She jerked her head around and saw her brother, alive and well, and cocky as ever.

"You've gone and done it, haven't you?" he asked, and he laughed, "You went and fell head over heels for him, oh man I don't believe it, my own sister and my own best friend. Well, it could be worse, that's for damn sure."

Denise didn't say anything, she couldn't believe her eyes, her brother, after being gone all night with no word, back and acting like nothing had happened.

"I don't mind it or nothing," he added, "If you two want to be together that's your own business. To each their own, live and let live and all that crap that they say. But I just never figured, my sister and my best friend, in love, with each other, ho!" he laughed.

Denise got to her feet and was next to him in a heartbeat. "Shut up will you shut up?" she said in as low a voice as she could manage, "You're going to wake him after I've been up with him all night because he was worried about you, nobody could find you, we didn't know if you were alive or dead, and he wouldn't shut up, he wouldn't stop crying! He finally went to sleep an hour ago and I swear if you wake him up!"

"Hey sis, calm down," Jeremy said, "Hey, I didn't know you guys were actually going to be worried, come to think of it, why were you worried?"

"I wasn't," she replied, "Richie was."

"Then that makes sense, you haven't worried about me since 1989," Jeremy said in his regular cocky tone, "But Denise, you won't believe what I've found out."

"Do I even want to know?" she asked.

"Where's Mason?"

"Still across the street, why?"

"If he tries to fight us now, he's going to be doing it single handedly, his men are dead."

"What?"

"Dead, they're dead, D-E-A-D dead, pushing up petunias, picking radishes with a stepladder, expired, they are dead, all five of them."

"Five of them?"

"That's right, seems Mason's been having a lot of help with him."

"But how do you know that's all of them?" Denise asked.

"Do you know who killed them?" Jeremy asked.

"As crazy as things are going around here, I'd even say the little man that turns out the light in the icebox."

"Krug."

"Krug killed them?"

"Yeah, apparently last night he got to snooping around on the property here and overheard them from Mason's porch. It being pitch dark and all, they never noticed him, and he heard them talking, apparently Mason's had them around for a while now, although what for, Krug didn't find out. And Mason said that he was sending, all of his guys out to make sure there weren't anymore slip ups, and he said all and five guys came out of the house."

"And where are the bodies now?" Denise asked.

"At the funeral home."

"Wonder what the mortician's going to say about them," she said.

"He's not going to, Krug killed him too."

"Why?" Denise asked.

"He found out that the mortician was in on it too, Mason's had them on some kind of payroll to help make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Funeral home, shit!" Denise said, "You know what that means?"

"Yeah, that's the best place to stash a corpse."

"No you mental pygmy," she replied, "They could've had the broad cremated, now we'll never find her."

"Sis, you're overreacting."

"Oh you think so?" Denise asked.

"Yeah, for one thing, we've been watching his house the whole time, they couldn't move anyone or anything in or out without us seeing it."

"But last night we were trying to find the deputy, we were gone and they could've taken her body out then."

"Too chancy, we kept coming back and going that night, and there was no telling when one of us would pull in. No, Sis, I think that broad's still over there."

"But where? We've already looked in the entire house!"

"I know," Jeremy said, "However, a famous man once said that "once you have excluded the impossible, then whatever remains however improbable must be the truth"."

"What famous man said that?" Denise wanted to know.

"The one that voices the fat orange cat on Saturday morning cartoons."

Denise growled and raised her arm back as if to strike him.

"Denise?"

Both turned to see Richie slowly come around. Denise grabbed Jeremy's arm and pulled him over to the bed. "It's allright, Richie—Jeremy's back, see?"

Richie's eyes opened fully and he sat up in the bed. "Where have you been?" he asked.

"That's a long story," Jeremy said.

"Well you know what," Denise replied, "I put up with him for over seven hours while you were gone, now you can tell him where he's been." She gave him a shove over toward the bed. "Go on!"

Jeremy came close to falling on the bed but caught himself in time. He looked back at Denise and turned to Richie, "A real charmer, ain't she?"

"Where have you been?" Richie repeated.

"Well first I went out to find Uncle David, I didn't find him. I did however find out that the police station was about as empty as it could be, that is to say all the officers were out on call."

"What about the phones?"

"Oh yeah, they had a lady there answering them, seemed kind of odd, she said that she never picked up a call from us."

"How would she know? Nobody answered when you called."

"I know---I'm beginning to think somebody down at the station is on the take too."

"What take?" Richie asked.

"Krug found out that Mason's got a bunch of guys working for him, he found them and killed them all last night, stuffed them away at the funeral home."

"You can't be serious," Richie said.

"Yes I am, I saw the bodies myself---would you like to see them?"

"No! I don't want to see anymore bodies!" Richie cried as he buried his head under the pillows.

"Nice going, genius," Denise said.

Jeremy took away the pillows and pulled Richie up again. "Anyway, as it turns out, Mason has had these guys on some kind of a payroll for a while it seems."

"What for?" Richie asked.

"I don't know," Jeremy said, "But I think it all has something to do with the hooker he killed."

"Like what? He killed her for a specific reason? It wasn't just because they were fighting?"

"I don't think so," Jeremy replied, "It sure don't seem to be playing out like if it was."

"She was just a hooker," Denise said, "What could she possibly have that all of them would want?"

"I don't know," Jeremy said, "But anyway, Krug's got all of them down at the funeral home, and providing that's all of them that there are, Mason's in this by himself now, ain't that great, Richie? Now we outnumber him, six to one."

"That's all good and well, but we still need to find a corpse before we can do much of anything," Denise reminded him.

"What do we do?" Jeremy asked, "Just wait until he leaves the house again to tear it up and find her?"

"I don't know—I wish I did—I wish to God that I did know what to do next—but all we can do is wait. In the meantime, I guess you two better get some sleep."

"Yeah, come on Rich, now we can go back to my room, ain't a person alive who'd think to bother us in there," Jeremy said.

Richie groaned as he tossed back the covers and stood up. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is ever going to end."

"Come on, Richie," Denise said as she gave him a push out of the room, "Everything's going to be allright, I'll see to that, you just rest."

"How can I?" Richie asked.

"Oh it'll be easy," Jeremy replied, "Come on."

"But Jeremy, what about what you said?" Richie asked.

"It's allright, Rich, I'll tell you the whole thing once we get settled in."

"Yeah, tuck you two away nice and tight so I don't have to put up with you until later," Denise said, "That's the best deal I've heard all week."


	13. Chapter 13

"But Jeremy, I still don't get it," Richie said, making very little protests as Denise undressed him.

"For some reason, Mason has had all these guys working with him, something against the hooker, now I know they make money but if there's enough to get five guys on the payroll, she must be an expensive dame."

"And what about the broad at the police station?" Denise asked.

"I'm on the fence about her, she may be in on the take, but then again it's possible that somebody screwed with the phones."

"The phones here or at the station?" Denise asked.

"Well that's a stupid question," Richie said, "The station's phones _had_ to be working because Jeremy said all the police were out on call."

"So who was screwing around with our phones?" Denise asked.

"I don't know," Jeremy replied.

"And Krug's killed these five guys, so its possible Mason is alone in this now, right?" Richie asked.

"Very possible, he said he was sending _all_ of his men out," Jeremy said.

"But that doesn't mean he doesn't have women working in it too," Denise added as she dug out another set of clothes from Richie's bag.

"But women aren't as dangerous as men," Jeremy protested, "At least no woman out there." He pointed to Denise, "This woman right here, she can take down John Rambo, Mad Max Rockatansky, the Terminator, Rocky Balboa, and Jean-Claude Van Damme. But those broads out there, they couldn't even kill a cockroach."

"They're not as brutal, that's for sure," Denise replied, "But who's to say they can't be as sinister, or as cunning? Underestimate a dame and that could prove fatal, remember Francine Hughes? And I don't need to remind you where money's involved, they'll do just about anything."

"True," Richie said.

"Still, any woman that he could have working for him can't be too much trouble, don't you agree?" Jeremy asked.

"I suppose so," Denise said as she helped Richie slip into another shirt, "So I guess once you get down to it, the only one we _have_ to really pay any mind to, is Mason."

"And we don't have to worry about him," Jeremy added, "There's us, and Connor, and Krug and Jason, we got this guy outnumbered."

"But still without any body," Richie said, "There's not much we can do."

"We'll worry about that later," Denise said, "You two, in that bed, now!"

They both jumped into the bed and drew up the sheets. Denise turned out the lights and headed out to watch the downstairs.

* * *

An hour and a half later, everybody was awake and everyone was also hungry, so Denise cooked breakfast, however once she actually got around to serving it, everyone started having second thoughts.

"What exactly is this again?" Connor asked.

"Bacon and rice," Denise answered.

"For breakfast?"

"Yes."

Simultaneously, Connor and Jason came up with excuses to leave the room and they exited, Krug on the other hand just shrugged his shoulders and took a plate.

"I'm not complaining," he said, "In this business you never know when your next meal will be your last meal."

"So Krug," Denise said, "My brother tells me that you did away with most of Mason's friends last night."

"Most? I'm hoping I got all of them. It's what I do best after all."

"Well now we're trying to figure out just what he did with the woman's body," Jeremy said.

He and Denise saw Richie just looking down at his plate, he didn't touch it with his fork or anything, he just stared at it.

"Richie, you okay?" Jeremy asked.

Richie looked up at him with the strangest eyes they'd ever seen. "Maybe he ate her."

"What?"

"Maybe that's why we can't find her, maybe he's a cannibal."

"If he was, what'd he do with the bones?" Jeremy asked, "I doubt he could throw them out."

"Maybe he buried them," Denise said, "If so that dog on that block is going to love coming over to his property."

"Maybe he took _those_ down to the funeral home to have them burnt up," Richie thought, "Bones are a lot easier to sneak out than a whole body."

"I don't know," Jeremy said, "I still think he's got her over there somewhere."

"Why? What's he waiting for?" Richie asked.

"For this bunch of peeping toms to stop watching him, he knows that if we catch him, then it's his ass in the fire," Krug said, "He's waiting until he's certain nobody's going to be looking for him, then he'll make his move."

"And how do you know that?" Denise asked.

"I've been in this business long enough, I know my way around homicide," he said.

"So what, we just wait and watch him?" Jeremy asked.

"Like a hawk," Krug responded. "We keep watching him, and sooner or later he is going to snap and try something and then we have him."

"It's just too bad we can't get him out of that house," Jeremy said, "Maybe this time we'd actually be able to find something."

"Something else," Krug corrected him, "We have the murder weapon, we just need to find the corpus delicti."

"But where?" Richie asked, "We looked the house over up and down, every floor, every room, where could she be?"

"I don't know," Krug replied, "However, I don't think he cremated her."

"But maybe he did take the body down there to hide," Richie thought, "Maybe they have her stuffed away in a coffin."

"Impossible, I checked them all myself when I was putting the corpses in," Krug told him.

"So where is this dame, then?" Denise asked.

"That's what we're just going to have to find out when we go over there," Jeremy said.

"Yeah, but how?" Richie asked.

"That's a good question," Denise said, "We were lucky before, but how can we get him out of the house this time?"

"I don't know," Jeremy replied.

"It's not my place," Krug said, "But if you want to know what I think—I suggest we go right on over, and blow the bastard back to hell where he came from."

* * *

The idea was oh so tempting and also oh so impossible, for the time being anyway. After breakfast, Denise put Jeremy and Richie back to bed in his room and went to stand guard to relieve the men for a while. She turned off the light and closed the door on her way out, it had stormed all night and was still continuing today, so there was no sunlight to bother them. The more Richie thought about it, it felt kind of awkward, he and his best friend, all alone, in the dark and the quiet, nobody to bother them, that was a first. As he started to fall asleep he remembered how in foster care they were always bothered by—

The thought was cut off when Richie felt a strong pair of arms snake around his waist, he was wide awake and knew just who the arms belonged to. "Jeremy?" he asked.

"Yeah?" he replied, sounding half asleep.

"_What_—are—you—doing?" Richie asked, wriggling to get loose from his grip.

"What's the matter?" Jeremy asked, "What did I do?"

Richie sat up against the headboard and turned around to face him, and when he did, he suddenly couldn't think of anything to say. He really wasn't sure that Jeremy had _done_ anything.

"Boy, this murder's gotten you turned into a bundle of nerves," Jeremy said, "Why I bet if somebody said "BOO" you would jump a mile."

However, Jeremy saw that his joke did nothing to change the look of horror and shock on Richie's face.

"What's the matter, Rich? You don't think that—you think I'd—oh come on, Richie, how long have you known me?"

"I like to think long enough to know."

Jeremy shook his head. "You know what I think? I think you were in foster care so long, it just got you scared out of your skin if anyone gets near you. You weren't always this jumpy, I know that."

"Well the last time we shared a bed, you had a different place to keep your hands," Richie said, "Yourself."

Jeremy laughed, "Oh come on, Rich, you know I'm not into that freaky stuff."

"I sure hope not."

"Even if I were, you really think I'd have that little self control that I'd try to jump my best friend's bones?" Jeremy asked.

And Richie felt like an idiot for even considering the idea to begin with. "No, you're right."

"Good God, Richie," Jeremy said, "What did those bastards do to you?"

"What?" Richie asked.

"When we got split up, Denise and I couldn't protect you anymore, what did those foster people do to you after that?" Jeremy asked.

"Nothing," Richie shook his head, "They never got away with anything but I always had to fight them so they wouldn't."

"Then you, my friend, were lucky," Jeremy replied, "Denise and I weren't always that fortunate, even when we could fight."

"I know."

"Now, in basic foster care you will come across two main types of parents," Jeremy told him, "One, the kind that will use you as a punching bag for no reason, you know the type, they get off on beating the crap out of you. Then, there's the second kind and that is the kind that just gets off on having you there. And I don't think I have to tell you that once you come from a string of homes like that, either way you will about jump out of your skin when anybody touches you for any reason from there on out."

Richie hated to admit it but the more he thought of it, it made sense. Several times last night he came up short of a panic attack just about every time Denise touched him while she bathed him. It wasn't anything new and neither was her technique, when they were still living together she probably bathed him a hundred times the same way, so why else should it bother him now, other than the theory that Jeremy had just given voice to.

"I think you're right," he said, "Jeremy, you ever think about becoming a psychiatrist?"

"Don't even joke about that," Jeremy replied, "My parents are both shrinks, and I've been sent to enough to know that it does more harm than good. They're all just looking for someone screwier than they are, a perfect victim, someone that needs help and keeps coming back, like in foster care, they're looking for the perfect victim. Least that's how it always went with me."

"And Denise?"

"She never went and she ain't going to," Jeremy said, "They didn't help me any, and she had it worse than I ever did, she'd kill them before the first session would ever be done."

"Yeah, but you're not screwed up like they are, you could actually be a good one," Richie thought.

"Oh yeah? You consider it, Richie, shrinks have people who are sick all the time, people with anorexia and bulimia, people who want to kill themselves, people who are there by court orders, people whose mentality could snap like a twig and then you have some trigger happy psycho in your office. Who would ever want to go into a profession like that? Anyone sane that is."

"It was just a thought," Richie said.

"Next time you have a thought like that, throw it away," Jeremy told him.

However, Jeremy considered that perhaps Richie was just doing it, to get his mind off their current situation, and if truth be known, they could use all the distraction they could get.

"Jeremy?"

"What?"

"Do you think it's true what they say about people like that?" Richie asked.

"Who?"

"Well, like our foster parents. You think it's true what the experts say?"

"What?" Jeremy asked, "That it's a sickness? That they just can't help themselves? That they don't understand what they're doing is wrong?"

"Yeah."

"No. It's not possible, at least not in any way that I can figure," Jeremy replied.

"How's that?" Richie asked.

"Well, there are different kinds of illnesses, there's the kind that you can catch, but there's nobody to catch something like that from. Then there's the kind that it's just something in the air, that stuff don't pass through the air. Then there's the kind you're born with, and nobody's born like that, I know that for a fact. Illness, I've seen it can make people upset, depressed, suicidal even, it can make them angry, but one thing I have not seen it make people, is violent towards kids."

"Well then why does everyone say it is?" Richie asked.

"Because," Jeremy replied, "That's their way out of having to make someone responsible for what they do. Now, I believe in doing something while temporarily insane, or maybe fully insane, but I don't necessarily consider it to be an illness. My sister's insane, I won't say she's sick, foster care made her that way, but then you explain the guys that did it to her, what's their excuse? Anyone who has half a brain knows better than to repeat the damage done to them, and anyone without half a brain should be found out long before they're trusted with a kid. For a lot of them though, or at least the ones we got stuck with, what they fall victim to is alcohol and anything to get a good high, and that's a choice they make, not some illness. They can say what they want about the addiction beating them, but when you've truly gotten tired of something, you find a way out of it. They make it sound like the people can't help what they do, when they damn well can, they choose to do it because they can, it's as simple as that. It's not an illness, it's about power, Richie, strong versus the weak. By the time the latter stops being weak then they're not a target anymore. It's as easy as that."

"That's a hell of a philosophy," Richie said.

"No philosophy, Richie, it's a fact and it's life. As soon as you stop letting people walk all over you, they learn not to mess with you anymore—in fact—"

"What?" Richie asked.

"You stop to think about it, there's probably just as many people like that working in psychiatry as there are as foster parents. If you think about it, there's a pattern there, a profession that's supposed to help people, people with problems, people who are considered unstable, no credibility, have nobody to turn to, nobody to back them up, and they're at the hands of these master freaks. You have a past like that, you are easy prey for the dominating people, both in foster care, and in the psychiatric profession. In both cases, they can do whatever they please to the people in their care, and they can get away with it because those people have nobody to help them. If they try anything, it's their word against yours, and we are a couple of ex-cons, straight out of foster care, and there are these high and mighty people, policemen, bankers, lawyers, doctors, psychiatrists, and nobody would take our word over theirs. As I said, it's all about power, and control, and domination."

"But what makes them like that?" Richie asked.

"You're kidding, right? Richie, people have been that way for thousands of years, everybody wants control over somebody else. Royalty and Communists have possessed control over whole nations, lawmen and politicians have control over citizens and towns and suburbs and the whole country. Men have dominated women, minorities, other men. If they can't find someone who's already weaker than they are, then they find a way to make them weaker, that's the way it's always been, and as it's always going to be. At least, that's how it's going to be, until the latter starts fighting for themselves and blow those power hungry bastards back to hell where they belong. Now go to bed, Richie."

However, Richie had found a nice position sitting, leaning against the headboard and showed no sign of moving.

"Come on, Rich, you know I'm not going to pull anything—look, I don't know how they do things in your new family, but around here, so long as everybody keeps their clothes on and nobody reaches for under them, ain't anything wrong with friends in the same bed, is that allright with you?"

He nodded, "I'm—sorry, Jeremy."

"No harm done, just relax, you're wound tighter than a clock," Jeremy told him.

They both laid down again on their own sides of the bed with their backs turned to each other, but neither was ready to sleep yet.

"Jeremy," Richie said.

"What?" came the muffled response.

"Does it ever get any easier?"

Jeremy turned back over to face Richie. "What do you mean?"

"Do you ever start to forget what people did to you?" Richie asked.

"I thought you said the bastards didn't touch you."

"They didn't, but they tried, God did they try. They were dead set on having me as a new notch in their bedpost, I swear," Richie said, "I wish I could just forget it all."

"Sometimes we're worse off not remembering," Jeremy responded, "Then the subconscious really eats at you. It's when things are right on your mind that it'll usually leave you alone, but the things you don't think about, the things you try not to pay any attention to, that's where the subconscious will give you nightmares, and flashbacks, and—other things. You remember it, you won't let yourself be taken advantage of in the future, then you know what to do."

Richie sighed, "I still say you'd make a hell of a shrink."

Jeremy turned back over, "Don't worry about it—just go to sleep, Rich, soon, this whole ordeal will be over, and we can move on with our lives."

Richie nodded and turned over so his back was to Jeremy's again, however he couldn't sleep, he couldn't get comfortable, he couldn't think straight, he couldn't calm down. All he wanted to do was die, and even that he couldn't do.

Jeremy wasn't asleep either, although not so much for the same reason as Richie—he figured as soon as he tried to go to sleep again, Richie would say something else to get him up, so he just waited. He wound up waiting longer than he'd anticipated and was about to fall asleep when he decided to stop pussyfooting around.

"Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going through your mind now?"

"I was just thinking."

"Oh yeah? What about?"

Richie turned over to face his friend. "I wonder if that was the case with Mason."

"What?"

"The lady he killed, I wonder if she was just easy prey for him."

"It's a definite possibility. However, if she was or wasn't doesn't really matter too much anymore."

"But Jeremy."

"What?"

"It had to be something like that. She was a hooker, no doubt about that, but why would just an ordinary customer want to kill her?"

"Who knows why anybody wants to kill anyone."

"But just think, it's not a common thing. I think there was something to it more than that."

"But what? Like maybe he was her "employer" or something?"

"Maybe, I mean, so far as I know, the number of times that you hear about a customer killing a hooker is probably about two, and I don't think this guy would be a third case. No, I think he has to be something above a customer."

"Well I'll admit, the bastard does have the finances to be able to afford "owning" the broad, but if that were the case, he'd be making more money off of her, why would he kill her?"

"Maybe she was holding out on him."

"Maybe, but again it's something we'll never know, now go on to sleep before you drive us both bananas," Jeremy replied.

They both turned back to opposite sides of the bed and laid down but neither was asleep, Richie didn't move and hoped soon he'd be too exhausted to stay awake. Jeremy wasn't asleep either, he was listening for Richie to say something else, he didn't. Jeremy turned over and saw Richie wasn't moving much aside from breathing either, he listened carefully to make sure he was still breathing. It took some straining to hear Richie, it was low and shallow breathing, and became quieter, and quieter, until—he stopped breathing.

"Richie?"

Jeremy grabbed Richie and as he did, Richie let out a noise that Jeremy couldn't determine whether it was a howl or a sob, or both combined. Jeremy turned Richie over and instinctively locked his arms around him and held him close, expecting Richie to give him the fight of his life to break loose, but he didn't possess the desire or the strength, he just leaned into Jeremy and cried.

Denise was better at this coddling stuff than he was, she always had been, but now that she sometimes beat the living hell out of the person she held, Jeremy decided he had to do this instead.

"It's allright, Richie, we won't let him get you," he assured him.

"I just want this whole thing to be over," Richie told him over his gut wrenching sobbing.

Jeremy patted Richie on the back and assured him that it would be over soon – it was just a matter of finding the body and he told Richie it couldn't be as hard as they were making it out to be, but Richie didn't seem to hear him. After a few minutes, Richie seemed to tire himself out.

"Richie."

"What?"

"Don't worry, nothing else is going to happen," Jeremy told him, "We'll protect you."

Richie felt like he was already on death's door, every part to his body ached, his eyes burnt, every single bone in him felt like it weighed about ten pounds – he barely possessed the strength to keep from slipping out of Jeremy's hold. He lowered his head on Jeremy's shoulder and got out a very low, very tired, "Thanks, Jeremy."

As Richie drifted off to sleep, Jeremy laid him back down on the bed and kept a hold on him. It was becoming clear that Mason didn't need to put a hand on Richie to torture him, he was doing just fine using psychological warfare – Jeremy remembered being told that was only called for in war.

Well, he thought, If it's a war Mason wants, it's a war Mason gets.

* * *

The day had been slow and dismal; the weather kept the sky dark and in doing so returned the darkness to the earth below, the atmosphere was kept wet by a continuous rain that was persistent to stay there all the day and following night. With Mason's henchmen gone, it was decided only one man need stay watch at a time. Each watch ended with the same results, nothing could be seen or heard, nobody came in or went out of Mason's house, there weren't even any lights on to prove he was there. However, his truck was still in the driveway and the three men had been standing guard all night and all day so they knew he hadn't left.

Day became afternoon, during which time the rain came down harder, and if possible the sky became even darker. Denise had been on her feet all the day and Connor went to the kitchen to tell her to rest, but apparently she beat him to it because he found her at the kitchen table asleep. He went over and tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up, and when she did, Connor knew for a fact that she'd been getting very little sleep lately.

"Oh boy did I oversleep, I've gotta get up, I've gotta make dinner – I've gotta stop saying gotta---"

Connor snagged her by her jacket and set her back down on the chair. "Denise, it's 4 in the afternoon, you've already boiled the noodles and put the lasagna together and now it's in the oven. You fell asleep – although that's not too bad an idea, I think maybe we ought to put you down in bed for a while."

"No, I'm fine," she said, "Besides, I've got to go check on the boys. Wait! What's going on? Where's Mason?"

"In his house where he's been all day," Connor said, "I'm wondering what he's doing over there."

"Well we still haven't found the body so that gives us a few possibilities of what he might be doing," Denise replied.

Connor didn't even want to think about that. Denise was up the back stairs and made a beeline for Jeremy's bedroom, she turned the knob, went in and turned on the lights, and was completely unprepared for the sight of her brother and Richie asleep in each other's arms. She screamed like something inhuman and it got both the boys up very quickly, and they didn't know what was going on.

"What happened up there?" Connor asked.

She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs so she acted fast. "Everything's fine, I just slipped."

"Are you sure everything's allright?" Connor asked.

"Yes dammit I'm sure, go make sure Mason's not having any extra company come around, that'd be the last thing we need," Denise hollered across the hall.

They heard Connor's footsteps return to the first floor, and Denise approached the bed where two very shaken up boys stared on wide-eyed.

"Allright, what's going on here?" she demanded to know.

At first the boys looked like they didn't know what she was talking about, but when they saw the compromising position they seemed to be in, it all came together and they were tripping over their own words to explain it.

"Denise this isn't what it looks like, I swear," Jeremy said.

"Well I should hope not," she replied, "Mama was right, they never should've let you watch The Outsiders."

Jeremy was still tired, too tired to feel much of anything, so instead of snapping back at her, he just laughed. Richie didn't seem to get the joke though.

"Well have you two sleeping beauties had a good rest?" she asked.

"I think so, how about you, Richie?" Jeremy asked.

"Yeah I'm allright, Denise."

"Yeah Richie?"

"Did anybody ever tell you that you scream like a Conehead?"

"You should hear her when she's in heat," Jeremy replied, "I don't know what the hell kind of noise she makes then but if it were a mating call, every beast from the jungle would be in this house."

Denise walked over to the bed and smirked, "Dinner will be ready in little over an hour, and I expect to see both of you at the table, and Richie – you are going to eat tonight, even if I have to feed you like the bambinone you're being."

That idea didn't please him very much. "I'll eat," he replied.

"Good, and don't worry, fratellino, nothing's going to happen to you, we'll all make sure of that."

With that, Denise left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the two boys to themselves.

"Fratellino—" Richie tried to think if he knew what that was supposed to mean.

"It's Italian, Richie," Jeremy told him, "It means little brother."

"And bambinone?"

"Big baby, Denise has picked up a lot of stuff since the last time we were together. It really comes in handy when we run into idiots who piss us off and they only speak English. She insults them and I translate it meaning she wishes them well, it's a lot of fun."

Richie laughed, "I'd like to see that sometime. How many languages does she know?"

"That's a tough call, she's not fluent in any really, a few she knows rather well, others she mainly just guesses at when she recalls the words. Your warden knows she speaks French, and you heard Italian, she also speaks German, Russian, Spanish, Latin, Japanese, Sumerian, Gaelic – and I don't mind telling you Richie that it can get very confusing."

"So how do you know what she's saying?" Richie asked.

"Because when she does it, she has a general attitude towards those people so it's pretty easy to guess."

Richie sagged back against the pillows, "I'm still tired."

"Well dinner won't be ready for over an hour, I'm sure you can sleep until then," Jeremy said.

Richie groaned in agreement, he spread out in the bed and closed his eyes, he felt Jeremy draw the covers back up around him. After that Richie was half asleep for a while, out of nowhere he felt his arm lifted and something slipped under it, and he woke up and saw a stuffed bear looking back at him with plastic eyes. He shoved it away and it fell to the floor and he turned to Jeremy and demanded to know, "What the hell was that for?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I figured since I'm up and won't be going back to sleep, maybe you'd sleep better if you had something to hold onto, and I figured Henry would be as good a choice as any."

Henry? The thing's name was Henry? Richie picked it up and looked at it again before throwing it across the room. "Jeremy–"

"What?"

"How hard has Denise been hitting you in the head? I'm too old for stuffed animals, you ought to know that."

"Bite your tongue," Jeremy said, "I'm not and you're the same age as I am, so there. Besides, even if you were, what's it matter? There ain't a soul in the world that'd know besides you and me and Denise."

"And anyone who conveniently walks in while I'm asleep," Richie added.

"Even if they did, what's the problem?" Jeremy asked.

"If that happened I'd die of embarrassment."

"There you go again, Rich—just when in the bloody hell did you start worrying so much about people's opinions that aren't in the family? I'm going to tell you this now, family's the only people that matter, they're the only ones who give a damn about you and they're the only ones whose opinions count."

"Thank you, Godfather," Richie moaned as he laid back down.

Jeremy picked the bear up and slipped him into Richie's hold again and covered him up. "Ain't anything to worry about, Richie, you're allright."

"Jeremy."

"What?"

Richie held the bear up as if he were going to drop it. "Where'd you get this thing anyway?"

"A second hand store down the street," he pointed over to his window, "Picked them up too."

Richie looked over and saw a stuffed dinosaur, a cat, two dogs, a pig, an elephant, a giraffe, and two other bears.

"And you sleep with them?"

"Sure…it makes it a lot easier."

Richie was too tired to further argue that he was too old for this, so he just gave in, and held the bear to his chest as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

What felt like an eternity later, Jeremy woke Richie up for dinner, they had 15 minutes left before Denise would come calling for them so they decided to meet her in the kitchen.

"How're you feeling, Richie?" she asked.

"Allright I suppose," he replied.

Denise gave him an antacid so his meal didn't get the better of him tonight. Then she called the men into the kitchen for dinner while she went to watch the front window, she explained that she'd eat later. The men sat at the table and talked amongst themselves over dinner, but Richie was uncomfortable with the idea of Denise by herself, so he took his plate and went to join her.

"Uncle David hasn't come back today," she noted.

"Do you think he's allright?" Richie asked.

"Yeah—he may be a cop, but he's not stupid, he knows a lot about survival, after living with Jeremy and myself, you about have to. Besides, Mason's pretty much in this single handedly now, what's the worst amount of damage he can do?" She realized her error too late. "I'm sorry, Richie."

Richie said nothing and kept eating though he was finding it hard to swallow. Finally he asked, "Do you think we will find the body?"

"Yeah, we just have to think of somewhere else to look," Denise said.

"But where?" Richie asked.

"That's the thing, to catch Mason in what he's done, we have to think like he would, we have to be as clever as he is. Though that's not too clever to be found out by 3 kids and a couple of crazy uncles, and two ex-bounty hunters."

"But we looked in the house, every single room, we checked the furnace, up the chimney, the freezer, every single place in the house…Jeremy has been in the funeral home, where else could he have put her?"

"That's what I'm going to find out," she replied.

* * *

Dinner passed with little further conversation, Richie was feeling tired again so he laid on the couch to rest, Krug sat in the chair next to the couch and watched him, Denise and Connor were at the front window again, and Jeremy and Jason were pacing about, waiting for something to happen. Their peace and quiet was broken up by a sudden wail of sirens, the noise got everybody excited and Richie especially who shot up and fell off the couch. At first it sounded like an air raid siren, but then they realized it was the siren belonging to police cars, and looking out the window they saw it was just that, several police cars speeding up the road.

"They're coming here!" Denise said.

"What's going on?" Jason asked.

"Looks like somebody opened their big trap," Krug noted.

"Swell, now the police have to mess this up," Jeremy said.

But there was a problem, when police were called on a murder, they sped like Satan was chasing them, but as soon as they reached this part of the road they stopped, and casually got out of their cars and came up onto the Kramer property.

"They're going the wrong way!" Jeremy said, "Mason's over there!"

Denise realized something. "They're not coming for Mason."

"Connor," Richie was more afraid now than he could recall being in a long time.

Connor grabbed hold of Richie and told him that everything would be allright, he wouldn't leave him. Truth be known, Richie looked a couple of inches away from his hair turning white and him going crazy.

Denise went to the door and opened it, Uncle David, among several other officers, stepped in and went to the living room. Denise shut the door behind them and followed.

"What seems to be the trouble, officer—s?" Connor asked.

"Who's the owner of this house?" one officer asked.

"Our parents are away on vacation," Denise said.

"So it's you and you brothers here?" another officer asked her.

Brother_s_. Why not? "Yes," she answered.

Another officer gestured to Connor and Krug and Jason. "And these men?"

"I'm their uncle and these are my boys, we're _here_ on a vacation, can we help you?"

"Do any of you know Drew Mason across the street?" another asked.

"We know of it, never met him though, why?" Jeremy asked. "Are you going to arrest him?"

"Jeremy," David tried to explain, but he was cut off. The other officers laughed for a minute.

"Now that's a riot," one officer said, "You kids go over there, bust _his_ home up, and then think he's the one going to jail?"

"WHAT?!" was everyone's question.

"Hold it! Hold it!" Connor said, "Say that again?"

"We got a call from him a short while ago that somebody had broken into his house, and smashed up a few things, and he came downstairs in time to see them jump out the window and come running to this house."

Everybody started with their protests, but over them all, nobody could really be heard.

"I tried to tell you, Don, these guys have been here all day," David said.

"He's right," Denise added, "We have been here all day, and I can vouch for all of us when I say that nobody's broken in over there, and nobody's smashed up anything because we've been watching that house all day and all night for the last two days, and nobody has seen anything."

"And why were you watching his house?" another officer asked.

"Huh?" Jeremy asked.

"WHY WERE YOU WATCHING THE HOUSE?" he repeated.

"Uncle David, you didn't tell them did you?" Denise asked.

"No I didn't—I didn't even know he'd called the station until they were ready to come here. I tried to—"

Everybody was talking over one another again so nothing could really be heard, until finally everybody was drowned out by the bellowing command of a 400 year old Scot who stood in the front doorway. Suddenly, all eyes were on Duncan MacLeod, and Tessa Noel who stood at his side, each wondering what the hell was going on.

"Oh shit," Richie half murmured as he fell back, and that was when he realized that Connor was gone, he probably slipped out the back just before Mac and Tess showed up. And now they would know, now they were going to find out what had happened, and they wouldn't believe him, no matter what he said, they wouldn't believe him. There was no body, Mason was Duncan's friend and one of the most honorable men in the town, he wouldn't believe him, Tessa wouldn't believe him, the police wouldn't believe him, and once Mac and Tess took him home, Denise and Jeremy and the others couldn't help him. Mason didn't have to get his hands on him, Richie was already as good as dead.


	14. Chapter 14

"Officers, what is going on here?" Duncan asked.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Duncan MacLeod, and that is my friend, Richie Ryan, he lives with us, what's going on?"

"Your friend, and his friends, have been called in on vandalism."

"Vandalism?" Tessa asked, "That's impossible, Richie wouldn't do anything like that."

"Madam, madam, please—calm down."

"I will NOT calm down!" Tessa replied, "You can't accuse Richie of vandalism when he didn't do anything."

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble ma'am, but we have a report that he DID do it, the report was made by a Drew Mason, who lives across the street."

"What?" Duncan asked.

David Kramer apparently had had enough, he kicked that officer in the rear and said to him, "Don, enough! It isn't vandalism, there's a woman dead, and that story was just brought up to cover it."

"Enough!" Duncan exclaimed, "Now somebody, tell me what is going on."

Denise came forward in her innocent character again, "Mr. MacLeod, something terrible has happened, Richie knows because he saw it, and nobody will believe him."

"What?" Duncan asked, "What happened?"

Richie struggled to keep himself together long enough to answer. "A few nights ago, Mason killed a woman, he cut her throat, and he's gotten rid of the body, and I know because I saw it, Mac. I saw it with my own two eyes and I can't get anybody to believe me!"

The police were dumbstruck by what he said. "You really expect us to believe that shit? Drew Mason is one of the most respected men in all of Seacouver."

"And what, if he was blue-collar you'd believe us?" Jeremy asked.

Everybody started shouting at each other again until Duncan screamed for them to shut up.

"Richie, if this is true, how could you have seen it without being caught?" Duncan asked.

"I was outside, he had his blinds closed, but they weren't shut all the way."

"So how can you be sure of what you saw?"

"Because looking through those blinds partially closed is as good as having them wide open."

"Are you sure of what you saw?"

"Yes, I am."

Duncan knew that with Richie's police record, they wouldn't believe him unless someone else had seen the murder too. He turned to Jeremy, "Did you see this too, Jeremy?"

"Well—no, not really."

"Did any of you?" Tessa asked.

Denise, Krug, and Jason shook their heads, but Denise wasn't giving up so easily. "We have proof though."

That had everyone's attention.

"And you didn't inform us about all this?" one officer asked.

"She did, me," David said.

"And you didn't tell us?"

"No, I knew you wouldn't believe it, and apparently I was right. However, I'm not the only one who was alerted."

"There were others?"

"One."

"Who?"

"Troy Bloch."

"Bloch? That's impossible, he's dead."

"That's right, but what you don't know is that he was killed on his way over here the night of the murder. Somebody killed him, stole his clothes and his ID and came to the house pretending to be him, and when the kids found out he was an imposter, it was too late because he got away."

"That's impossible also, he was found dead out of town."

Everybody got into a big argument again, until another officer shut everybody else up.

"This murder story's only a way for them to try and get out of trouble for breaking and entering and tearing up Mason's home. Now Mason's not pressing charges, he merely asked you be let off with a warning."

"A warning?" Jeremy repeated, "For a warning you send half a dozen squad cars up here with the lights flashing and the sirens wailing?"

"Officer, is Richie in any trouble?" Tessa asked.

"No ma'am—I've been on the force long enough to know when a story's a bunch of crap, and that's exactly what this murder thing is. Everyone in this town knows Drew Mason and have known him for a good number of years, well enough to know he's not a murderer, he's anything but one. Uh—does he live with you?"

"Yes he does," Tessa replied, "Can we take him now then?"

"Don't see why not, he's already gotten his warning, though I can't see why Mason wouldn't press charges."

"Thank you, Officer—come on, Richie," Tessa said.

"Wait a minute," Denise said, "You can't take him back without his things, they're upstairs in the guest room, he'll have to pack."

"Come on, Rich, I'll help you," Jeremy grabbed Richie by the arm and they were out of there, with Denise following behind.

"Officer, I'm terribly sorry about all this," Duncan said, "I don't know why Richie would say what he did."

The officer brushed it off. "We see hundreds of crackpots a week, we're used to it."

"What!?" Tessa exploded.

"No offense, ma'am, but can you give me one alternative reason for their story? Mason a killer? He's no more a killer than my mother is."

"But what about the other officer that was killed?" Tessa asked.

"We're looking into that but that doesn't mean there's a connection, these are not safe neighborhoods, anybody who's been here more than a week can tell you that. There's also not a lot of respect for the law, that's also well known, Bloch dealt with some pretty shady figures and it could be one just came looking for revenge and got it."

"I apologize again, we just got back in town and came to pick Richie up, we certainly had no idea all this was going on," Duncan said.

"Not a problem, Mr. MacLeod, though if I were you, I'd keep an eye on him."

Duncan nodded. "I will."

David came up to him, "Mister MacLeod?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Denise and Jeremy's uncle, David Kramer, I work with the police."

"What can we do for you?" Duncan asked.

"I can't say for myself that I understand what all's going on, all I know is that in the last few days my nephew has called me up in the middle of the night hysterical, my partner on the squad is murdered, impersonated, and his body dumped in an empty car in the next town, my niece will swear on a stack of Bibles that Richie's telling the truth, and I have a relative telling me that if we don't catch Mason and soon, he's going to kill the man with his bare hands."

Tessa groaned and buried her face in her hands for a moment. "Duncan, I don't understand all this."

"Neither do I I'm afraid," Duncan replied.

"Your friend can probably tell you more than I can," David said, "I think—but from what I've seen, I'd say his nerves are definitely shot."

"Oh, Duncan," Tessa groaned.

"But if you want to know what I think—I think your boy's telling the truth, I've been on the force a while now myself, and I've seen a lot of actors, some can be pretty damn convincing, but what your friend's gone through, that is no act."

"Thank you, Officer," Duncan said, "I'll be sure to get to the bottom of this."

* * *

"They won't believe me," Richie groaned as he packed his bag, "Nobody ever does, and Mason's his friend, and we didn't find the body so we can't prove anything."

"If only we could show them some proof," Denise said.

"There's no blood on the comb, sis," Jeremy told her.

"How about the bathtub? You think he's had time to clean the blood out of it yet?"

"But how can you prove that without being taken in on breaking and entering?" Richie asked.

"So what if they do arrest me?" Denise asked.

"They wouldn't listen to you," Richie said.

"They're not listening to us now, we have to do something," she told him.

"I don't want to go back, Denise," Richie said, "They're not going to believe me."

"Richie, you can't stay here," Jeremy said.

"Who says he can't?" Denise asked.

"Denise, be serious, we're in no position to do anything. Richie has to go with them."

"For now, but just remember what I said, Richie, if your warden does _anything_ to you, I'll take care of him."

Richie nodded. "Thank you, Denise."

His voice was reduced to nothing more than a choked sob, and it was all Denise could do not to go down the stairs and start busting skulls. Instead she wrapped an arm around Richie's waist and assured him they would figure something out.

"I'll go talk to your warden for a minute," she said.

* * *

"So you don't know anything about what Mason's talking about?" one officer asked Krug.

"No."

"You don't think if you came with us to answer some questions that you'd know anything new?"

"No."

"Duncan, none of this makes any sense," Tessa said.

"I know."

"If something was wrong, Richie would've called us."

"I know."

Denise came down the stairs. "Mr. MacLeod, Miss Noel, can I speak with you for a minute?"

"What is it?" Duncan asked.

"Well, first of all I apologize, I know this isn't the scene you expected to arrive to. I'd also like to apologize for all the confusion, but it won't do you any good to try and get any answers from Richie tonight, he's been up for a better part of the last three days, he needs his rest before he'll be good for anything."

"Okay," Duncan said.

"Denise, do you believe Richie's telling the truth?"

She nodded. "I know he is, I can't prove it without going to jail, but I know that Mason killed the harlot."

"Excuse me?" Duncan asked.

"He brought a hooker to his house, they started arguing and he killed her. Richie saw it, and he's never lied to me before, and he wouldn't start now. The police won't admit it, but Mason is up to something, I told you nobody would believe him. Do you?"

Tessa opened her mouth to answer, but didn't. Duncan answered, "I don't know, Denise, I can't think of too many reasons why Richie would do this, but the whole story is hard to swallow, you have to admit that."

"No I don't," she replied, "I grew up in foster care, I've seen people of every level stoop to lows you wouldn't imagine. It doesn't matter how well known they are, what their reputation is, how much money they have, where they come from, who they are, none of that matters because they're all the same."

* * *

Richie came down the stairs with his bag packed, and he looked as ready to go as he was going to. Denise headed towards him and said, "Goodbye, Richie, I'll see you soon."

Richie nodded and went over to Duncan and Tessa, it was the longest time before he could look up and look them in the eye. "Mac—Tess---"

Tessa put her hands on his arms and looked him dead in the eye. "Come on, Richie, we're going home."

"Home." The very mention of returning home proved to be too tempting for Richie, he quietly followed them out to the car and got in the back, and he laid out in the back and fell asleep on the way home.

Two hours later, the police were gone, everything had quieted down, and Jeremy and Denise were trying to figure out where to go from there when they heard the back door open. Denise was quicker than was good for her and she grabbed her gun, but she saw it was only Connor and put it back down.

"Where were you?" Jeremy asked.

"Duncan came—there was no way to explain what I was doing here, and it wouldn't have helped us any. What's going on?"

"They took Richie back with them," Denise said, "I hope he'll be allright."

"What happened with the police?"

"They didn't believe us," Jeremy said, "They wouldn't even listen to Uncle David, and they think we tore up Mason's house, but he wasn't pressing charges."

"And we couldn't tell them what we found or else they would've hauled us off to jail, so we're back to square one," Denise added.

"And I'm guessing that my brother didn't believe you either?" Connor asked.

"No."

"What happened to Jason and Krug?"

"They had to leave, I paid them and they've gone off duty for the night."

"So now what do we do?" Connor asked.

They got a good idea of what the first thing was they were going to do when a second later the house went dark and quiet.

"I think we blew a fuse," Connor said.

"Maybe the breaker shorted out," Jeremy thought instead.

"I doubt it," Denise said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Connor asked.

Denise grabbed her gun again and headed for the front door.

"That means, follow my sister," Jeremy said.

They did, and found she had climbed to the roof and found that the power lines were done, completely severed from their place on the roof.

"I've never seen this one happen before," Jeremy said, "not without a storm blowing the lines down, but cutting them down?"

"I don't know that they were _cut_," Denise said.

"Then what were they?" Jeremy asked.

"If I didn't know any better," she said, "I'd say a gunshot was fired right through them."

* * *

Richie had fallen asleep in the car and stayed that way, so Duncan carried him into the store and up to his bedroom and covered him up. Then he joined Tessa in the kitchen for a cup of coffee with plenty of scotch stirred in.

"A murder?" Tessa echoed for the umpteenth time.

"It can't be, Tess, I know Drew."

"How long have you known him?" Tessa asked.

"Not _that_ long, he's not Immortal, but I know him well enough to know that he is NOT a murderer."

"Then why would Richie say he was?"

"I don't know."

"He is not crazy, Duncan."

"I know."

"And he wouldn't just make it up."

Duncan didn't respond to that one.

"Duncan!"

"I'm sorry, Tess, but you didn't hear Richie talk about him before we left. He'd never even met him, and already he decided he didn't like him, that there was something wrong with him."

"I find that hard to believe, Duncan, he had to have at least known Mason somehow if he decided that."

Duncan shook his head, "He didn't."

"But Duncan, that doesn't make sense."

"Nothing tonight does, now, I don't anymore believe Richie's story, than the police's story that he broke into Drew's home, so I can't tell what's going on either."

They were getting nowhere like this. "Maybe we should just go to bed, and start fresh in the morning," Tessa suggested.

"Maybe," Duncan responded. But he still wasn't sure about this whole mess.

* * *

Richie opened his eyes and saw by the clock that it was 8:30. Somebody should've woken him up by now to have him help with the store. Uh oh. If they weren't even bothering waking him up, then something must be _really_ wrong. And he knew what it was, him. Out of the frying pan and into the fire it was. How was he ever going to explain this one? It wouldn't matter, they wouldn't believe him, or would they? There had been a lot of stories going through the police to them the other night, and tying in the dead cop with them had to give them some credit to their story, hadn't it? Reluctantly, he got up, made his bed, put on his shoes and headed to the kitchen, only Tessa was there. Richie didn't know what to say, or even if he should stay or instead turn around and leave.

"Good morning, Richie," Tessa said.

"Morning, Tess."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Okay I guess—you?"

"I've been better."

"Oh—where's Mac?"

"Down in the store—are you hungry?"

Richie shook his head, he was feeling awful enough as it is.

"You need to eat, Richie," Tessa said, "Denise said you've been feeling terrible the last few days."

"Yeah."

"Come on, Richie, sit down."

"I really don't think I can eat, Tess."

"That's allright, I heated up some soup, I needed something to calm my stomach myself."

"Oh—" Richie sat down at the table and kept his head down.

Tessa got up and went to the stove. "Richie."

"Yeah, Tess?"

"If something was wrong, why didn't you call us?"

"Because first they called their uncle David who works with the police, and then he said his friend Tony Bloch was coming over to watch us, but he never made it, he was killed, and the killer came as him. But Denise found out he was a fake, and he disappeared, so, she called—a couple of friends to come and help us keep an eye on things. But then the power went out, and we got separated, and we spent the rest of that night trying to find each other. Her friend, Krug, he tried to call the police, but the phone was dead—the wires had been cut they found out. We didn't find each other until morning, and when we got back, the house had been trashed."

"What?"

"Somebody had broken in while we were gone, tore up everything, broke the windows, tore apart the furniture, smashed up everything, we spent half the day repairing what we could, and then waiting on the men from the power company and the phone company to come and repair the lines."

"After that?"

"David came back, and told us that Troy had been found in—Union Gap I think it was, dead, in an empty patrol car, and they almost caught the killer, but he got away. After that, we all took shifts watching Mason's house, and Jeremy went looking for David because nobody was answering at the station, and he was gone all night and we were worried he'd gotten killed, believe me, Tess, making a phone call was the last thing on any of our minds."

Tessa put a bowl of soup and a spoon in front of Richie and he sat up. "Tess, I know I don't have any credit worth a damn to me, but you have to believe me, I know what I saw."

"I really don't know what to believe, Richie, I never met Duncan's friend, he never even told me about him. I also know that you're not crazy, and you wouldn't just make this up to get him in trouble, especially when you don't even know him."

"Believe me, Tess, I know all about him that I need to know," Richie replied.

They heard Duncan come up and Richie squeezed his eyes shut for a second. It was all over now, time to face the music.

"Tessa, would you take over for me downstairs for a while?"

"Sure, Duncan."

Richie couldn't help but notice Tessa seemed a bit hesitant to go, but she did, and Duncan seated himself at the table across from Richie.

"Well Richie, care to start from the beginning today?"

Richie drew in a breath and lowered his head again, this was not going to be a merciful death. "I saw Mason kill a lady."

"How?"

"What?"

"How did you see him kill her?"

"I told you, Mac, through the blinds."

"When was that?"

"A few nights ago shortly after midnight I think."

"What were you doing out at that time?"

"On that street there's a family with a dog who gets loose a lot, and he comes over to Denise's property, you can ask her that yourself, she'll clarify that."

"And what's that to do with this?" Duncan asked.

"He came over and was making a ruckus, I went out and took him home, and on my way down that sidewalk, I saw through the blind to Mason's living room, and I saw he and this lady arguing, and he cut her throat, and I ran back to Denise."

"And you're positive of what you saw?"

"Yeah, I became fully awake when I saw that."

"Say that again?"

Here it went. "I was still tired from being woken up, I was half asleep when I started for home."

"Uh huh."

Richie sat up straight and looked him dead in the eyes. "BUT when I saw him kill that lady I was wide awake, there was no questioning what I saw, Mac!"

"Richie," Duncan shook his head, "How can you be certain of what you saw when you admit that you weren't fully awake when it happened?"

"Mac! I know what I saw, I was tired but I was awake, I couldn't have been having a nightmare when my eyes were open!"

"Richie, sometimes when people haven't fully wakened they see things and they seem real enough that they believe they actually happened."

"NO! Mac! That's not how it happened! I know you can't possibly believe me, but I'm telling you the truth!"

That was the beginning of a long battle.

* * *

The day was balmy and gloomy, with rain threatening to drop at any time. Denise and Jeremy sat outside on the edge of their porch in between the poles that held up the roof of the porch, pretending to enjoy the view, and looking around for anything different. Denise had started burning through a pack of cigarettes at 5 A.M. and was still huffing away at them.

They saw Mason come out of his house looking as he always did, he even seemed to be in a rather cheery mood. He got in his truck and headed off for work.

"That tells you," Denise said, "He thinks he's done with us, well it ain't over yet. We may have been beaten up but we're not beat yet."

"Thank you, Glenn Ford---do you think anything's happened to Richie?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know, but when something does happen, he's going to come back here, and when he does, we'll have to have something to show to his warden that it's not just what we think, it's what we know."

"Yeah, but to do that we have to come up with a body," Jeremy said.

"That's the only thing standing in our way," she replied.

"She's got to be over there somewhere, doesn't she?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes, but we have to figure out where," Denise replied.

Neither said anything for a minute, then Denise remember what Jeremy had said the day before, "Once you have excluded the impossible, then whatever remains however improbable must be the truth."

"What'd you say, sis?" Jeremy asked.

"I think I figured out what he's done with her."

Denise chucked her cigarette into a puddle on the sidewalk and jumped off the porch, Jeremy leaned over to see her. "Denise, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to find that broad," she told him, "Don't come after me."

"But Denise!"

"We have to find her, or Richie's goose is cooked and ours as well. Jeremy, one of us has to find the body, and the other has to stay here if Richie comes back, and he _will_ come back. You can't go anywhere without it being a coin toss if you'll come back, so I'm going, and I'm going alone, you got that?"

Seldom did Denise ever talk to her brother with _that_ tone, the one that said he would learn the consequences if he disobeyed. "Yes, Denise."

* * *

With no customers coming, Tessa decided it was a good time to turn over the sign to read closed so she could go upstairs and shut up a certain 400 year old Scot and a 17 year old kid before somebody passing by called the police.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me!" Richie screamed, "Just because you've known him longer, and he lives an upper class life, his word's better than mine, is that it?!"

"THAT'S not what it is and you know it!" Duncan returned.

"Then WHAT is it, Mac? Why won't you believe me? You've been around for 400 years, you HAVE to know that uppity people like him are every bit as capable of killing a person, as someone like I would be."

"I know him, Richie, I can trust him."

"And what, you don't know me? You can't trust me? How long have I been living here, Mac? Have I ever given you a serious reason not to believe me when I tell you that something's wrong?"

"Duncan, Richie, please! Calm down!" Tessa pleaded as she came into the room.

"I WON'T calm down!" Richie replied, "There's a woman DEAD, murdered in cold blood, and all you can do is go on about how well you know the killer? You know what, MacLeod, you are one sick son of a bitch!"

Before he'd completed the last word, the flat of Duncan's hand met with his face and sent him falling back.

"Duncan!" Tessa cried.

She started to go to Richie but Duncan stopped her. "Don't help him, Tess, let him do it himself."

"Duncan! How can you be so cruel to him? He's only a boy!"

"A boy who had better learn his place, and fast."

"Duncan!"

"Forget it, Tess," Richie got to his feet, "I can see it was a mistake thinking anyone would believe me here. Maybe I'd be better of going back to Denise and Jeremy, at least they believe me, and they can prove it to you."

Richie went to his room to get his bag, but when he went in, Duncan went behind him and closed the door and locked it from the outside.

"Duncan! What are you doing now?" Tessa asked.

"He is not running away, and he is not going to be making anymore trouble for anyone."

They heard Richie jerking on the knob and pounding on the door, but Duncan wouldn't let up. Tessa went to let him out but Duncan stopped her.

"Duncan, how can you so heartless?" she wept, "Richie's certain of what he saw."

"No he's not, Tess, he's only convinced himself that he is. He's no more sure of what he saw than anything."

"Duncan, do you really think Richie would do all this if he wasn't sure?"

"Yes, I do."

"Duncan, you have to let him out," Tessa said.

"And I will, as soon as he drops this story about Drew being a killer," he added loud enough for Richie to hear.

"But Duncan, don't you think there's at least a possibility that he could be right?" Tessa asked.

"No, I've known him for too long."

"How long is that?"

Before Duncan had a chance to answer, the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Duncan, how are you?"

"Connor? Where are you?"

"On a rickety plane coming in for a landing in about half an hour, I decided to come and pay a visit. How are things going?"

"Oh, they're beyond words," Duncan replied.

"Terrific, uh…could you and Tessa come down and meet me at the airport? I had enough trouble getting out of here the last time I came to visit, I don't even want to think how I'll make it out of the mob this time."

"Sure, no problem, Tessa and I will be right down."

"I'm not going," Tessa told him when he hung up.

"Yes you are, Connor asked for both of us to come and meet him at the airport," Duncan said.

Tessa thought it over for a minute. "Fine, I'll go."

"Then let's get going."

"You go on ahead, I have to go to the bathroom first," Tessa told him.

She headed over to the bathroom and shut the door, turned on the light, and waited, when she was certain Duncan had gone to get the car, she went over to Richie's bedroom and lightly knocked on the door.

"Richie?"

"Go away," she heard him cry.

"Richie, Duncan and I have to go pick Connor up at the airport, Duncan's gone to get the car."

"I said go away!"

"Richie."

"WHAT?!" he sobbed.

"I believe you, when we get Connor here, I'll talk to him and see if maybe he can help. Okay?" She got no answer, only heard him continue his crying. "Richie, I'm sorry for what Duncan did, we have to find a way to prove what you said, and we will. Now—Richie, I want you to listen. I'm going to unlock the door so you can come out, allright?"

She put the key in and turned the bolt, but Richie didn't come to the door.

"In about five minutes, Richie, I want you to come out, and go back to Denise's house and stay there, I'll figure out what to do from there, allright?"

She heard a sob that resembled a sound of agreement.

"Good---I love you, Richie, now I must go."

Richie waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, and he came out. He listened and when he couldn't hear the car anymore, he ran, he didn't bother taking anything with him, he just ran and hoped to get there before he could be spotted.

* * *

The rain was pouring down and the clouds rumbled with thunder. Jeremy was getting worried, Denise had been over at Mason's house for several hours now, where she'd gone exactly he didn't know. He only knew that it would be a matter of time before Mason came home from work, and if he found Denise he'd probably kill her too. He was out on the porch watching when something else caught his eye. It was Richie running down the street, like somebody was chasing him.

"Jeremy!"

Jeremy collided into Richie and they almost fell down, Jeremy kept a hold on him.

"Boy, Richie, you'd think Spring Heeled Jack was chasing you or something, what's the matter?"

"Take me inside, take me inside!"

"Allright, allright, take it easy, everything's going to be allright. Though I better warn you, the house is pretty cold right now."

Jeremy escorted Richie inside and he found that it was completely dark, and indeed cold.

"What happened here?" Richie asked.

"The power went out last night," Jeremy sat Richie down at the dining room table and threw a heavy blanket over his shoulders. "Denise went up the roof to investigate, turns out somebody had shot through the wires."

"Mason."

"Yeah, so, at about 3 o' clock this morning, Denise got down her shotgun and we returned the favor."

"What'd he do then?"

"Nothing, he went to work today as happy as could be. Truth be known, I think after he saw the police were up here, he was too happy at our supposed defeat to care."

"And where's Denise now?" Richie asked.

Jeremy struck a match and lit up a candelabra holding five candles, and he got a better look at Richie's face.

"Your warden struck, didn't he?"

Richie hadn't known he bruised, he thought he was just still in pain. He didn't answer.

"Denise knew it, she said if he'd do something to you, you'd come back. What happened, did you break out?"

"No, they went to get Connor, Tessa let me out."

"Get Connor? From where?"

"From the airport, I don't understand it either, where's Denise?"

"She went to find the body, AND," he stopped Richie before he could get up, "She gave direct order for us not to go over there, no matter what."

"How long ago was that?"

He thought back, "Five hours."

"Jeremy!"

"She said not to, and you know what happens when she's crossed."

"But she could be in trouble!"

The front door was kicked open and Denise stepped in, covered in mud, dripping wet, and clutching a gardening trowel in her hand.

"Denise!" the boys cried and they rushed to her.

"What happened? What's the matter?" Jeremy asked.

"Are you allright?" Richie asked.

"Richie, I owe you an apology," she said.

"Wha---what?"

"Mason does have a wife."

"What?" the boys asked.

"Her name was Cecilia Davenport Mason, she was married to him for about eight years, I know this because she had a wedding ring with an inscription, a white gold ring that she loved so much, she always wore it---and even in death that didn't change."


	15. Chapter 15

The boys bombarded Denise with questions that could pretty be put together all for one thing. Wife? What wife?

"That wasn't any regular hooker he killed, Richie, that was his wife. I went looking for her body, and I found it under the house."

"What?"

"There's no foundation to that house, there's a crawl space in the front covered by trellises, in the back there's a small basement. I figured if she was nowhere in the house, she had to be somewhere near the house, so I started digging up the crawl space under the front porch and the living room, and I found her. Just as you said, her throat slit open, black hair, bony as a skeleton, red dress and heels. On her left hand was a ring, a wedding ring, so I took it off, and don't think that was easy, and on the inside of the ring was an inscription with her name and their wedding date. So I went into the house and tore the place apart and found a wedding license, as well as a large life insurance policy taken out on her."

"Oh shit," Richie groaned.

"So there," she spat, "There's the precious proof for your warden, and the police."

"Well Denise," Jeremy said, "The power's out here, we can't get the police, what are we going to do?"

She looked at him and laughed sinisterly, "We, baby brother, are going to be ready for Mason when he comes home."

"What did you have in mind?" Richie asked.

An evil grin in her face, and a fire in her eyes, told the boys already that whatever it was Denise had in mind, it wasn't going to be pretty. Nothing she ever thought of was.

"The first thing we're going to do, is make sure that his Little Wife gets a proper wake," she told them.

* * *

By 5 that afternoon, the sky was pitch dark, the rain had quit earlier in the afternoon, now it was threatening to start again, and even if it didn't, the lightning and thunder was hell enough of a show to make up for it. It was at that time that Drew Mason returned home, he parked his truck in the driveway, and went up to his door without a care in the world. Once he stepped into the house, he saw something was wrong. The power was still out, but there was a glowing light coming from the dining room. 

Not knowing what to expect, he inched himself along until he was at the doorway, and what he saw turned his stomach. There was his wife laying sprawled out on the kitchen table, surrounded by lit taper candles, like it was a wake. The candles he noticed were all blood red, not too much a difference from the color of her dress. Off in a corner of the room he heard someone snickering in a low, sinister tone. Amidst the glare from the candles, he saw Richie Ryan sitting in the corner, looking up at him, his face twisted into an unreadable emotion.

"Well Mason, you thought you won, but you were wrong, pal."

Before Mason could react, Richie got to his feet. "You sure had us all going for a while, you know that? A real fucking game of cat and mouse, well—" he chuckled, "It's all over now."

It was a game of Russian roulette and it was taking every ounce of nerve in Richie not to trip over himself and panic, but luck was clearly on his side. Mason hadn't been expecting this, he wasn't armed, but unfortunately neither was Richie, and he hoped he could alive long enough for Denise and Jeremy to get back with their uncle and the whole police force.

Mason still appeared to be in shock by the view of his wife laid out on the table, dozens of candles laid all around her. Richie decided to use it to his advantage.

"She's a pretty one, ain't she Mason?" he asked, "Or rather she _was_ but," he laughed humorlessly, "They ain't so pleasant once they start to decay. And that big tear in her neck doesn't help her much either---what was it Mason? Hmm? She didn't make enough on the streets every night, so you just bumped her off and saved both of you the trouble?" Mason looked over at him at that, and Richie knew he was going to be fast to move, so he'd have to be even faster to stay alive.

He put a distance between them by circling the table slowly, he was on the opposite side and ready to jump either way in a heartbeat. "I can see it all perfectly—large insurance policy, better yet, a double indemnity, a million dollars if she turns up murdered—hide her body out for a while, dump it somewhere, she's found and buried, you collect and split it between you and your boys. Only they ain't around anymore, are they?" he laughed again, "The crime was perfect—it would've been, if we hadn't found out about it. But we did, and now it's over, either on your feet or on your back, it's over, before this night's over, you either go to jail, or the morgue."

What was over, was Mason's near-dormant state, before Richie could actually see it, Mason had jumped over to the other side of the table and had him by the throat. "You'll die first," he hissed as he slammed Richie against the wall. He moved to attack again, but when he got close enough, Richie kneed him in the crotch to buy him some time to make his next move. Mason doubled over in pain and Richie scrambled out of there and into the kitchen. Jeremy had left a hurricane lamp burning on the table so Richie could see in the kitchen and he got to the knife rack and took out a long Ginzu knife But by the time he actually got it out of its place on the rack, Mason came up behind him and got him in the ribs and Richie fell to the floor, loosened his hold and Mason instead grabbed the knife.

Richie didn't try to fight him for it, he started moving before he could get stabbed, and once there was about a couple of feet between them, Richie got to his feet and ran. The only problem was he didn't know where to run to, the dining room would be of no help, neither would the living room because he had no knowledge of what was in there when he couldn't see it. The only thing he could think of was to keep Mason chasing him until the cops came, so he darted for the hallway and got to the stairs and somehow managed to get up them without slipping in the dark. Mason was right on his tail. The upstairs was a maze so Richie figured maybe he could get lucky and slip him up once they got there, unfortunately _he_ slipped and fell down a couple of stairs.

He got up and now was backing up because he was too afraid to turn and run, and Mason backed him into one room, he didn't know what it was though he guessed it a bedroom. Richie backed up to the window where at least some light from the street lamps were shining through. Mason jumped forth to stab him but Richie grabbed his hand and his wrist and tried to tighten his grip enough to make him drop the knife but it didn't work. He wrestled with Mason enough that he didn't even realize it until they both stopped and Richie saw Mason's arm turned, and the knife in his abdomen.

Mason didn't seem to be effected by the injury, only stunned, and that told Richie that he had to get the hell out of there and fast. Unfortunately there was no way to go now, but when Mason started pulling the knife out seeming to be without a care in the world, Richie jumped back, shattering the window and falling two stories, and then everything went black.

* * *

Out of nowhere, Richie returned to consciousness, he knew that because his head was throbbing, and his mouth felt like his teeth should've been knocked out. He heard some people talking around him, but he couldn't understand anything that anybody was saying. Another thing he slowly came to the realization of was that he was crying, and apparently had been for a while, and he realized that he couldn't stop himself either. 

"It's over now, it has to be over, right?"

Jeremy, that was Jeremy he heard, it had to be—and he was so close, but Richie's eyes hurt too much to open and find out. Though he had an idea that he was close by, he also had an idea of where he was, as much as the realization made him cringe, he knew that wherever Jeremy was Denise was, and if Jeremy was the one beside him, then Denise had to be the one that was holding him.

"Of course it's over," she replied, "That bastard got everything that he deserved, he's dead, and the dead _**don't** _come back!"

Mason! They were talking about Mason. They had to be. Dead? He wasn't dead when Richie saw him, on the other hand, that wasn't to say he died soon after Richie fell and lost consciousness. And Richie realized that if Mason was dead, he killed him. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, it was supposed to be he held him off until the cops came, the cops would see the broad, see Mason trying to attack him, they'd tackle Mason and haul him off for the rest of his days, or until Krug and Jason got to him whichever came first. He wasn't supposed to die before the cops came, and he especially wasn't supposed to be killed by Richie.

It was all over. The police had it in for him enough as it was. Nobody would ever believe it was self defense where he was concerned. This was it, he was going to spend the rest of his days rotting in a prison cell—unless! Another unpleasant thought came to mind, unless Mason didn't stay dead. Connor never said whether or not he was Immortal, but with everyone else always around he wouldn't have any room to say it. Mason could be Immortal, and if that was the case, he would come back to life, and he'd come for Richie, and Denise, and Jeremy, and everyone who was involved. And if that were the case, would Connor be able to kill him? What if he wasn't good enough?

"What's going on?" he heard someone ask off in the distance.

That sounded like Mac, Richie realized, and if he was there, then that would have to mean—

"Richie! Oh my God!"

Tessa was with him too.

Now Richie was in a real panic, but he was too weak to fully wake up and ask Jeremy and Denise what was going on. Instead, he just got weaker—everything was already black, and now everything was going quiet again.

* * *

Everything seemed to have come to an end, everything was dark, and quiet, and Richie couldn't tell what had happened, or where he was, and he decided he didn't want to find out. Duncan and Tessa now knew that he had killed Mason, killed Duncan's friend. But they had only arrived after Mason was dead, they wouldn't have any reason to believe Richie, they wouldn't believe him about Mason, they wouldn't believe him about his wife. Tessa said she believed Richie, but that was before he killed a man, there would be no way she'd listen to him now. 

Any way he looked at it, it was over and he was in for it, after what he'd done, Mac would probably have his head. It just figured, the first family that took him in and seemed to actually want him, and he ended it all by doing this. They could never forgive him for this, they'd never want to see him again, if he even came near them they'd probably sic the police on him, or Mac would take care of things himself. The weight of it all took its toll on Richie and he started crying—to be more exact he let out a gut wrenching sob, and that had two people rushing to him.

He heard voices, two people---they were talking to him, trying to calm him, he had to listen for a while, he had to think—Mac! Tess! He opened his eyes and saw them both standing over him. Well, not exactly standing, Tessa had dropped to her knees beside the couch and she was holding him, kissing him on the crown of his head, murmuring something in French, and Duncan was seated at the end of the couch looking over at him, and Richie was surprised to see that he didn't look angry.

"What happened?" Richie asked.

"It's good to see you coming around," Duncan said.

"We were so worried about you, petit, you've been asleep for the last two days," Tessa told him.

"Two days?" Richie repeated. "What's going on, what's happened?"

"Richie, I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, there aren't any words to tell you how bad I feel for what I did," Duncan said.

"You didn't kill the lady, Mac."

"No, but I didn't believe you when you told us what happened," he replied. "I should've known you wouldn't lie about Drew even if you hated him—I should've known there was a reason you hated him, but I didn't."

"That's okay, Mac," Richie said, "Nobody ever has reason to believe me."

"It's not allright, Richie, I shouldn't have treated you the way I did, there's no excuse for it."

"He was your friend, Mac—your friend, and I killed him."

"Richie, I didn't—wait, wait, what did you say?" Duncan asked.

"I killed him, Mac, he came at me with a butcher knife and I fought him, and I gutted him because of it," Richie cried.

"Richie calm down, calm down and tell us what happened," Tessa said as she smoothed his bangs back and stroked the back of his head.

Richie did his best to explain to them the plan they'd had since Denise found the body. They'd dug her up and carried her into the house, set her out to make it look like a wake, they had gone to the police while Richie stayed to corner Mason when he returned home. Denise had planned to be in Richie's place originally, but Richie decided since he was the one who started the whole mess, that he should stay while they went for help. So in a short time, Denise prepared Richie for what might happen, they had counted on the idea that Mason would be carrying a gun but he hadn't, so Richie was just supposed to keep a fight and a chase between them until the police arrived. It probably wasn't the best idea, but it was the only one they'd had. They hadn't figured that Mason would be able to get to another weapon providing Richie played his cards right, but it hadn't gone as planned at all. He told them about the fight over the knife, and turning it around and getting Mason in the gut with it, and then falling through the window, and waking up to hear Mason was dead.

He was sure by the time he finished telling the story, Tessa and Mac wouldn't be so sympathetic towards him, but he was wrong.

"Richie, you didn't kill him," Duncan told him, "He didn't die from the wound to the stomach—after you got knocked out, he heard the police coming and knew he couldn't get out of it, so he killed himself—stabbed himself in the heart with the same knife."

"Are you serious?" Richie asked.

"The coroner's report confirmed that that's what did him in—the police found him, if he jumped or if he just fell from the window, nobody knows, but he was on the ground beside you, face down, they turned him over and found the knife in his chest and his hand curled around the handle," Duncan explained.

"So I didn't kill him?" Richie couldn't believe it.

"No, he killed himself. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Well—if he's dead, what happens now?" Richie asked.

"He and his wife are at the morgue, the authorities are going to see if either have any relatives to contact, the house is going to be closed up and probably condemned—they found the insurance policy and they know all they need to know, they know who did it, how he did it, and why he did it," Tessa explained, "It's all over."

"How are you feeling, Richie?" Duncan asked.

"Awful."

"Richie, nothing was your fault," Tessa said, "You don't have anything to feel terrible about."

"I know, Tess, but I do—"

"Well that's to be expected, you were the sole witness to a murder, anybody would be knocked back by that," Duncan said.

"Even you?"

"Richie, it doesn't matter how old I am, or how many men I've killed, you never get used to seeing people die," he told him.

"Good to know it's not just me, then," he said, "Tess, can I go to my room now?"

"Sure, Richie."

"Good, I just want to rest in my own bed now that it's all over," he said, "It _is_ really all over, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Tessa said.

* * *

A storm had come up during the middle of the morning and the thunder and lightning did nothing to help Richie, who was trying to sleep but was bombarded with nightmares. The last one had him shoot up in bed yelling, and he yelled again when he saw a man standing over him. 

"Hi Richie."

"Connor!" Richie fell back against the headboard and regretted it immediately. "What's going on, Connor?"

"Well," he said, "I'm here on vacation for a little while, and Duncan and Tessa had to run to the market to pick up some things so I told them I'd be more than happy to stay here and keep an eye on the little bundle of joy."

Richie cringed at those words and turned on his side to go back to sleep.

"Richie."

"What?"

"Jeremy asked me to give this to you, he said you could probably use it."

Richie turned around to see what it was, and regretted that also when he saw it was Jeremy's teddy bear, the one he called Henry. That was enough to make him wish he could crawl into a hole and disappear, but against his better judgment, he took it. Actually once he got a hold of it, he squeezed it against his chest like it was a lifeline or something. He closed his eyes and muttered, "Don't laugh."

"Hey if it helps you relax, I don't see what's to laugh about—from what I hear, you need all the rest you can get."

"Connor—where did you go the other night when Mac and Tessa came and got me?"

"I knew he was coming so I dashed out the back door when nobody was looking—a good thing to, I still had some unfinished business to tend to."

"What's that?" Richie asked.

"The bodies of Mason's thugs---since they weren't going anywhere, and nobody was to know about them anyway---they were cremated and I threw the ashes away."

"Aren't people going to wonder what happened to them?" Richie asked.

"No, I checked—they all lived alone, had no families, nobody, you won't find hardly anyone in the town who's even heard of them, let alone would miss them."

"So then there's nothing to worry about?" Richie asked.

"Nothing at all," Connor replied, "Everything's over now, so relax."

"It's hard to, Connor—I mean—I saw what he did—and even though I know that I didn't kill Mason, it still feels like I did."

"But it's impossible and you know it," Connor replied.

"I know—it takes some time, Richie, but it won't always feel this terrible."

"That's good to know, I think."

Both of their attention was grabbed when the room went dark, the electricity had gone out.

"The perfect end to a perfect week," Richie muttered.

"Ah don't worry about it—maybe the breaker was thrown," Connor said, "I'll go check the fuse box."

"I'll go with you," Richie said.

Richie followed close behind Connor and bumped into him a few times before they got to the fuse box.

"Everything seems fine here," he said, "Probably just the storm knocked out the power."

"At least that's all it can be, right?" Richie asked.

"You don't have to worry, Richie—nobody's going to come after you."

"You don't know that," Richie replied, "What about Mason? You never saw him, you wouldn't know, but what if he was Immortal? He could come back to life and he'll come after me."

"I know, Richie, both Duncan and I know that he wasn't," Connor said.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Duncan had known him for a few years—after we arrived and found him dead, I asked him if we should expect his friend to come back—he said you wouldn't have to worry, he was mortal."

"And—you're sure everyone that worked for him is dead?" Richie asked.

"Every last one of them—he kept a list of who was on his payroll, there isn't a single one of them still alive."

"You obviously were busy for a while," Richie said.

"Yeah—but that's over now—so you can relax, you want to be the only 17 year old in this place with an ulcer?"

"I just want to go back to bed," he said.

Connor took Richie back to his room and got him settled in bed, but even in the pitch dark, Connor could tell that Richie was far from being at ease. So he stroked the boy's head and tucked the teddy bear in with him and set it against the Richie's chest, and he assured him that the nightmare was finally over, and they could would be able to move on from there.

"It just feels like I'm still in the nightmare," Richie told him, "Like it's not over yet—you know what I mean?"

"Oh yes, believe me, after 400 and some odd years of killing men to stay alive—believe me, I know very well what you're trying to say."

"Does it ever go away?" Richie asked.

"Yes—the realization of everything needs time to settle into you, and once it does, you'll be fine," Connor told him.

"I hope it's soon because I honestly don't know how much longer I can last like this," Richie said.

* * *

Richie appeared to be on a slow road to recovery, almost every night he'd wake up screaming from his nightmares. It wasn't something you could set your clock by, but every night, Tessa and Duncan hoped they would all be able to get through the night, undisturbed, only to wake up some odd hours later, stumbling around in the dark while Connor was doing the 100 yard dash from his spot on the couch, to Richie's bedroom, and by the time they'd arrive, Connor was already there, holding Richie in his arms to calm him down and so he couldn't hurt himself, talking to him, trying to soothe him, it took a while every time, but it finally worked. 

"Shh, Richie, calm down—it's over, Mason's dead, he can't hurt you now, it's all over, you know it is."

"Connor—"

"It's allright, Richie, I'm here."

"It was horrible, Connor."

"I know, I know---but it's over now, you're allright."

"Connor, don't leave me, I'm scared!"

"I won't, Richie, I promise, I'm going to stay with you tonight."

"Good."

Connor looked over at Tessa and Duncan and without saying a word, assured them there was nothing they could do, all that could be done was to wait for Richie to fall back asleep, and usually once he could do that, he'd sleep through the rest of the night. So they decided to give Richie and Connor some room, they went to the kitchen to wait. Once Richie had truly fallen asleep, Connor would put him back to bed and join them for coffee, their nerves were shot after waking up, and none of them would be going back to sleep.

"It's terrible," Tessa said, "I just can't imagine what Richie must be going through every time he has those nightmares."

"I know," Duncan said, "But what makes me feel worse is knowing there's nothing we can do for him. Connor won't even let us near him when he gets like that, truth be known Richie would probably only get worse if we did."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tessa asked.

"It's very complicated for him---it takes Connor a good long while just to get Richie's attention to realize it's him and not Mason. Two more people—I don't want to think about what he'd think of us."

"Oh Duncan, you're exaggerating—Richie would know us—it's just when he gets worked up like that, he doesn't need more people crowding him."

"I'm glad you're so optimistic about it, but I really don't know," Duncan said.

"What do you mean?" Tessa asked.

"How many nights has this been going on?" Duncan asked.

"Well let's fight fair—how many times have you remembered killing your cousin, Robert? Or how about your first death, how often do you remember that? How many times were you haunted by what happened to you? Well Richie's going through the same thing—he's not Immortal like you and Connor, he can't just bounce back from this like you two do every time you kill somebody."

"We don't just bounce back, Tessa," Duncan said.

"Well you sure could fool me—now Richie is a 17 year old boy who's been a witness to one murder and still hasn't gotten over the fact that he didn't commit a second one."

"I still think he needs help, Tess."

"He has help, Connor's with him now, doing what he's done every night this week."

"I mean professional help, Tessa."

"Professional help, like what, the loony bin, a padded cell, electro shock therapy?"

"No, just a psychiatrist."

Tessa's eyes almost shot out of her head at the mention of that. "Duncan MacLeod, Richie is not going to a psychiatrist, there is NOTHING wrong with him!"

"Now look, Tessa, something's obviously wrong with him, something that we can't help him with, we—"

"Hey, will you two shut up please?" Connor asked as he entered the kitchen, "I just got the kid to sleep now you're going to wake him up again. Now what's going on?"

"Duncan thinks we need to take Richie to a head shrink," Tessa said.

"What for?" Connor asked, "He'll be fine—you can go in and look on him, he's sleeping like a baby, all that's missing is his thumb in his mouth and a mobile over his head."

"But Connor, I think he needs help."

"Oh give me a break, he doesn't need anything more than you two to lighten up. That boy _is_ like a baby, and like a baby he can tell when you two are stressed out, so it rubs off on him. So he feels bad because you two do, but he doesn't know it because it all happens subconsciously—there, there's your psychology, ta-dah. Duncan, that boy doesn't need a psychiatrist."

"I think he does, Connor."

"People don't need psychiatrists, all they're there for is you to pay $150 an hour to tell them what you think when you already knew from the start what you think, only in the end for the shrink to blame it on the mother. Duncan, this is life, everybody has problems, that's life, you have a problem, you deal with it, Richie is dealing with his problem. He'll be fine, he just needs time for it all to hit him that the nightmare's over."

"I hope you're right, Connor," Duncan said.

"I am right—and what are you moping about for?"

"I am not."

"Yes you are, I've known you too long to think otherwise, Tessa," Connor said, "Learn this—you can tell when Duncan's bummed out about something because he looks like a puppy that's been _smacked_ on the snout with a rolled up newspaper, look at him."

They both had a good laugh at Duncan's expense.

"Allright, Duncan, what's wrong?" Connor asked.

"I just feel bad for Richie—everything that he's been put through—and I certainly didn't help matters any."

"So you didn't believe him—half of the things he says are hard to credit."

"Connor it's not that, I hit him, I _hit_ him because of what he said, and then I locked him up—I don't----what in the hell was I thinking?"

"I don't know, but while you climb down off your soapbox, I'm going back to make sure he hasn't woken up," Connor replied.

Sure enough, Richie was still asleep, Connor was thankful for that, Richie was hard enough to get to sleep once a night, they didn't need a repeat performance. Looking at the boy, Connor had to laugh, he could be cute when he was asleep. Curled up on his side, clutching the teddy bear to him, and he looked like he didn't have a care in the world. No, he wouldn't be going to see any psychiatrist, if that happened, not only would he never forgive himself, but Denise and Jeremy would kill Duncan, and they might full well try for Connor's head as well. They were very protective of Richie, but they weren't able to communicate with him since he just wanted to stay in bed for most of the day and he wouldn't talk to anyone other than he and Duncan and Tessa right now.

But in time, Connor knew Richie would get over this and be back to his old self, and when that happened, he and his two hell-raising friends would be back again, three brothers basically, Denise was too mean to be qualified as just a sister. In the meantime, he just pulled up a chair and sat by the bed and watched Richie while he slept.

"Why can't you be this pleasant when you're awake?" he asked.

* * *

After a few more days, Richie made surprising progress by not waking up screaming, and also within time, he quit having nightmares altogether. Then, he started going out in public again, and that opened up a few options of what to do with Connor there. One night they went to a fight, the next, a ball game, another, a motocross race. 

"I still don't know why Mac never wants to come with us," Richie said one night.

"Oh Tessa keeps him plenty busy here, don't worry about him," Connor told him.

A few days later, Duncan started joining them when they went out to do something. A week after that, Connor was ready to head back to New York, but he didn't tell Duncan or Tessa that and instead waited until they had headed out on an errand to tell Richie. He'd packed his bags and left a note for them when they returned, but Richie was going to get an explanation in person.

"It's been a great past couple of weeks," he said.

"It sure has been," Richie said, "Connor."

"Yeah?"

"This isn't easy for me but---thanks for coming out here and doing everything you did."

"It was my pleasure, Richie—you ever have any trouble with somebody again, you call me, I'll be on the first plane over—nobody messes with my family and lives to tell about it."

"That's good to know," Richie said, "I'm also sorry about all the trouble I put you through after it all."

"Don't worry, Richie—the next time I come to town I'll have to tell you about when I found Duncan for the first time—the trouble he gave me you wouldn't believe. But in the meantime, I have a plane to catch—and Jeremy and Denise want to see you, so I'm going to take you over on my way to the airport."

"Okay."

"Well this is it," Connor said.

"I guess so."

"Don't look so down, you're starting to look like Duncan when he mopes—I swear when he does that he looks like a—never mind, another time." Connor surprised Richie and trapped him in a tight hug. "Goodbye, _nephew_," he laughed.

"Connor," Richie whined, "The neighbors are gonna see us."

"Let them look," he replied, "You're my family and I'm proud of you." He let Richie go and headed back around to the driver's side of the car. "I'll see you again soon, goodbye."

"Bye," Richie waved as he drove off and then headed up to the door.

As he headed up the sidewalk, the front door was jerked open and Jeremy jumped out the door and down the porch steps and ran into Richie halfway and he hugged Richie and picked him up and spun him around a couple of times, by the time he was put down, Richie was very dizzy.

"It's good to see you again, man, we were starting to get worried about you, come on, Denise wants to talk to you," Jeremy pulled Richie up to the front door without even waiting for a response. Richie got very much the same treatment from Denise who proved to be even stronger than her brother.

"It's good to have you back, frizz," she said, "How are you?"

"I'm doing allright."

"Good, I've got a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"It's to do with Mason's death."

"Oh Denise I tell you, I felt horrible when I found out he was dead—I mean he deserved it, yeah, but I was dead certain that I had killed him."

"You didn't kill him, baby brother," Denise assured him. Her smile then turned a slight sinister as she added, "I did."

"What?" Richie was sure she was pulling his leg.

"I killed Mason—Jeremy went to get the police, and I went back to the house to help you, but you were already heading up stairs, so I went to the kitchen to get a knife to stab him with. I saw one was already missing, and found in the rack a Ginzu knife was missing, but there was a whole set of them so I grabbed another and started up after you. I stayed behind for a while, then I heard glass breaking, I went in and saw you'd fallen through the window, Mason turned around and I stabbed him in the chest. He dropped the knife he'd used, and grabbed at the one in his chest to try and get it out, but he too was too close to the window and he fell. I grabbed the first knife and got out of there, and the police showed up just in time to see me cuddling you."

It sounded like a joke, but the nonchalant way she spoke, she stayed so calm and relaxed, Richie knew that she wasn't going to be laughing anytime soon.

"Denise, this is a joke, right?" Richie asked.

"It's no joke, Richie—I can prove it, I still have the other knife."

She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned and Richie's last couple weeks of recovery went down the drain. In her hand was the knife, the _exact_ Ginzu knife Mason had come at him with, the blood was dry and a rusted color now. He fell to the floor practically screaming, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Denise however didn't seem to notice, or rather care about what he was going through, she seemed to interpret it as excitement.

"It's in the exact condition it was the night it was used, would you like to have it?" she asked.

"No!" Richie cried, "Denise—" he found himself backing up though to what he didn't know, "Denise—how could—what on—ohhhh," he moaned, "I don't know where to begin."

She pulled Richie to his feet and moved him into the living room and set him down. "It's over, Richie, that's what's important. It's over, you're alive, and Mason isn't, everybody now knows what he did, so your credibility isn't anymore in the fire than it always has been. You have your life back now, and your warden knows that you were telling the truth, what more could you want?"

"Nothing I suppose," Richie said, "Denise, I've been in a shock of some kind for almost two weeks because of Mason's death alone, I don't know how long it's going to take me to come back from this."

"You, Richie," she said, "Are a one of a kind—of the three of us, you're the only one who got through foster care with a decent break—you never had to kill anyone to survive, so it's only natural you're not used to this."

The look of terror on Richie's face as he realized what she said was only further proof that no matter how bad he'd had it, it was a clean break compared to what Jeremy and his sister had had to endure.

"Get rid of that look," she warned him, "It doesn't matter what Jeremy and I have gone through, we've been through enough that there's very little that can surprise us anymore. We're used to it by now."

"That's for sure," Jeremy added, "Are you allright, Richie?"

Richie had gone a shade pale to their surprise.

"You told me that you saw your own warden kill somebody and that's why you're living with him," Denise said, "Why are you so surprised at what I did?"

"I don't know," Richie said.

"Well snap out of it before I smack you," she warned Richie, that was a threat they all knew too well she would carry out.

"Richie, she only did it because she knew that Mason would kill you if he got down to you before you could regain consciousness—it was in the best interest—she was protecting you."

Richie was getting a headache. He was still getting used to the concept of people killing other people to protect each other, including him.

"Are you allright, Rich?" Jeremy asked again.

"I hope so—I heard Mac saying something about therapy if I didn't get better," Richie said.

"What!??!?" Denise almost fell out of her chair at the mention of therapy. "That son of a bitch, I'm going to—"

Jeremy tackled her and pinned her to the floor. "Take it easy, sis! Take it easy! Richie's not going to any head shrink."

"That's for damn sure," Denise replied.

"I feel like Anthony Corleone," Richie said.

"You're going to be allright, Richie, it's all over now," Jeremy told him, "Ain't a thing left from this that can happen to you."

"I know, it's just going to take some time for me to get used to this," he said.

"We got time," Denise said, "I'll go call your warden and tell him you'll be home late."

"It'll be allright, Richie, you know that," Jeremy said.

"I know."

"But boy—what a time we had, huh?"

"Yeah—hey, whatever happened to Krug and Jason?"

"They went back to where they work," Jeremy said, "We haven't heard from them since Mason's funeral, but they're doing allright."

"Good."

"Krug was wondering how you were doing, he'll be glad to know you're allright."

"I'm sure he will."

"You know Denise had a thought the other night—she said that maybe one day, the three of us ought to go into the detective line of work. Can you imagine that?"

Richie laughed, "Oh sure, I can see that now, Richie Ryan, Private Eye at large."

"The real question would be if you two would be private eyes or private dicks," Denise said.

"Denise!"

"Don't you know you can't use that term anymore?" Jeremy asked, "The way people talk now, that's got a different meaning to it."

"That's exactly what I had in mind," Denise replied.

* * *

Richie demanded to see for himself what was left. Jeremy and Denise took him down to the cemetery and showed one tombstone for Cecelia Davenport Mason. And then on the other far side of the cemetery was Drew Mason, and there was a large difference in the two. Cecelia's tomb had bouquets of flowers laid up next to the stone, Drew's tombstone had been destroyed almost entirely, someone had used it for target practice. Pieces of it laid about for quite a few feet, they had to be put together to read the thing entirely, that was just his name, date of birth, and date of death. 

It wasn't anything outrageous, but it was enough, it was proof enough for Richie that Mason was dead, and his worries were over. Connor had cremated every other man that worked for him, they wouldn't be missed, there was no investigation, no trial, this was the end of it all, and he truly felt happy now.

The shock of Denise's fatal deed still hadn't worn out of Richie, and he knew it would take a while before it finally all settled down, but he also knew that despite what it'd done to him when he found out, he was fine. He knew that he wouldn't ever be sent to a psychiatrist or a loony bin because he was allright, he had heard Connor say before that that was all a part of life, you have a problem, you deal with it. That's exactly what he'd done all his life and what he would continue to do, he was going to make sure of that. And he knew if he ever needed any help there, he had friends who would be more than willing to help.

The End

Author's note: And now to put all credit where credit is due, I cannot take full responsibility for this story and now will place credit to the ideas that were re-used in this story. A disclaimer holds for all of them, I don't own and have no part in any of them, so don't sue.

First of all, the original idea for this story was inspired by the basic plot of the 1996 movie Clubhouse Detectives (an odd idea for a story of this sort I know, but there it is)

The urticaria-rubella-alopecia line was originated in Mary Roberts Rinehart's 1926 novel "The Bat", which also became the 1926 silent picture by Roland West, and was used again in 1930 Roland West's "The Bat Whispers".

The idea of a metal comb with the teeth sharpened as a murder weapon was originally used in Bill Knox's 1967 book, Justice on the Rocks.

The horror movie, Revenge of the Living Dead Girls, that Richie and his friends are mentioned as watching in the first chapter is in fact a real movie, granted, not one very well known, nor very well liked for its extreme gore and sex (hmmmm---and to think that's what people can't get enough of in movies these days,)

That's all for now---I hope you have enjoyed this story though I apologize for taking so long to finally finish it, and I hope to come back again soon with another story for your reading pleasure.


End file.
